If I listen to your lies
by victoriakay
Summary: A less cute take on Youjo Konki. Helped along by selfishness, good intentions gone bad, a few deliberate lies, and, one time, Visha, two extremely unfortunate people misunderstand their way into a marriage. Post-canon as of Vol. 5 so slight AU.
1. If I listen to your lies

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He often wonders what happened to the woman he married. It's been seven years to the day, and she's sitting across from him, just finished with dinner. He knows, if he reaches out to stroke the hand that she lay on the table as a silent offering, that she will follow him upstairs so that they may continue to pretend they're in a semblance of a relationship. He thinks not.

He's forty-five now, almost forty-six. He's not young, but not yet old either. It's not that he doesn't retain both the interest and ability. At twenty-six, she's certainly still young, still usually the most beautiful woman in a given room. Age has only made her more comely, time hasn't yet begun to make its mark.

But he hadn't married her because she was young or beautiful. He'd married her because there had been a spark in her eyes, a burning, awful, captivating intensity that had always been missing from his own. That, so far, is the only thing time has taken from her. It hadn't happened immediately, but he suspects it is somehow his fault. Looking back, he is fairly certain it began to fade the day they decided their future would be together.

He isn't sure what he did wrong, aside from deluding himself into thinking she loved him, despite never once hearing her say it out loud. He blames the way she looked at him that one Christmas, nine months before she became Mrs. Von Lehrgen. They'd been marvelously drunk. He'd carried her up to her room after she fell asleep. He'd been taking off her shoes, just to make her comfortable, when she'd woken up.

The two of them had always been stuck in some bad comedy of misunderstandings. He thinks they probably still are, though it's no longer a comedy, except perhaps to a bored and petty God. In her defense, he _had _been kneeling between her legs, so maybe, for once, he could understand how she'd gotten the wrong impression.

She'd kissed him like she wanted him. She'd touched him like she wanted him. She was good at playing pretend, though, still is, so it was only what he saw in her eyes that convinced him. Just for that time, for the few minutes between her waking up and him realizing that no matter how little she'd ever acted her age, his own state of intoxication was no excuse for taking advantage of a drunken eighteen-year-old, there had been no calculation, no dishonesty, nothing hidden. The startling intensity of that gaze had been brought to bear on him only, like at that moment she'd forgotten whatever problems usually plagued her and simply wanted to love and be loved by another person.

He wishes he were a better man, but he acknowledges that if he'd known that would be the only time he'd ever see her look at him like that, he might very well have ignored the issue of whether she really understood what she was getting herself into. Is it so bad to wish he had just one memory where he was absolutely sure she'd wanted to be with him?

For a long time he'd deceived himself into thinking she did. She faked like she enjoyed their life together, and though with the clarity of hindsight he can see that it was all a ruse, at the time he'd wanted it to be true so badly he'd let himself be convinced. It isn't as though he is incapable of pleasuring his wife. It's just he thinks, sometimes, when he catches her eyes at the right moment, that she hates him for it.

So he thinks not. For tonight he'd rather pretend she married him for some reason beyond the life of easy luxury he provides her, and if he sees that resigned loathing staring back at him, the illusion will shatter.

* * *

_A/N: Sorry you made it this far. I enjoy the messed up dynamic too much not to write about it. _

_This is the end of the story, because I had a hard time seeing a marriage entered into for all the wrong reasons ending well. The details of how they got into this mess are forthcoming. There will be spoilers up through Vol. 5 of the light novels, and very minor ones for a few plot points further on, but nothing that should give away any real action or dialogue._

_Sorry if you thought from the rating you were getting something else and read a whole story about why they weren't going to be getting down to business. I didn't label it a Romance for a reason. The rest of the story is more light-hearted, but as no category exists for "characters interact only professionally until a series of unfortunate word choices leads them to believe that the other one thinks they are in a relationship," I'm just going to leave it as angst & drama, since it ends not so great for them. _

_Disclaimer: I do not support marriages between people in their late 30s and teenagers..._

_Title is from Boy George/Culture Club's 'Karma Chameleon' if you are wondering :)_


	2. Requiem for a Dream

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"You don't love me anymore," she says softly, with neither happiness nor sadness at the realization evident in her tone. He doesn't know how she inferred it. He doesn't think he's looking at her any differently than usual. Maybe it's just that his own hand had remained on his side of the table.

She's right, as she is about most things. Maybe he'd never loved her at all. He'd thought he did, once upon a time. Somehow, what had started as an effort to understand her mixed up mind so he could put a stop to things had made her such a central part of his thoughts that he'd been trapped as surely as a planet orbiting the sun.

After getting to know her better, to know how unknowable that mind was, curiosity slowly overtook fear as his primary emotion in her presence. She was a jigsaw puzzle with so many dimensions it wasn't clear how it could ever take coherent shape. Piecing it together, or at least trying, had morphed into a preoccupation.

He'd thought it had been love. Hans had always accused him of having a bit of an obsession with her. Maybe it was just a sicker version of the fascination he'd always felt in her presence. It _could _have been love, he still wants to believe. He saw her as more than just something to be figured out once he began to see that underneath it all, she really was just another human. A flawed one, but weren't they all?

He glances at the woman across from him, face so devoid of feeling as to almost be lifeless as she awaits a response to what for anyone else would have been a heart-wrenching statement to make, and wonders if he'd only seen what he wanted to see. Or maybe, he muses, stomach dropping, what _she'd_ wanted him to see.

If only they'd won the war. He's thought that a thousand times, but this is the first time he's thought it in regards to their relationship. He used to think losing had had a sliver of a silver lining, because if they hadn't, he never would have had the chance to see another side of her. No, if they'd won the war, he'd probably be sitting here with a very different woman. There would probably be children at the table with them. There would likely be something aside from mutual resentment palpable in the air.

If only. Losing the war had set them on this runaway train with no return ticket, of that he's sure. It was after the war that he'd seen she was capable of caring, at least in a limited way. She'd spent hours each week with her injured best friend, locked away in an apartment that his money paid for. For all he knows, she still does. Perhaps his wife has one redeeming quality, at least. And it was only after the war that she'd become such a never-ending font of surprises. There were so many small instances that had made him smile and shake his head over her.

He berates himself for coming full circle. His feelings had had more depth than simple curiosity. Yes, he'd enjoyed the challenge she presented, but he thinks even if he'd put it all together, she'd still be her, in all her singularly complicated and strange ways. He'd just know who, exactly, _she _was.

He is almost certain he had been within reach of the truth once. Only for a few seconds, but he'd seen the indecision in her eyes, the tension in her muscles, frustrated by an inability to explain why she knew a certain thing had to be done. The war was over, by then, and a troublesome former lance corporal was stirring up discontent. Her outburst had been so out of character, though, that he decided to treat what she said as truth, and he'd helped arrange an end to the man's political career.

She'd been insufferable after getting her way, and he'd made some comment, offhand, peeved at her attitude, that she owed him one for it. She never had gotten him anything, he reflects. He would have settled for something as lowly as a pint of beer. What he'd wanted was for her to extend the hand back, to lay her own cards on the table. To entrust him with the part of her that no one else knew. He thinks he even told her that.

She hadn't done it, though. She never let him see the rest of the picture. Not long after that day it was as though she'd bent the incomplete puzzle into submission so that it looked like it fit together, though the seams were all wrong. In doing so she'd covered the person he'd seen between laying down the mantle of perfect soldier and taking up the one of perfect wife.

He should be kinder to her. It's not as though he entered this marriage with completely honest intentions either. He'd seen an opportunity to keep her, forever, from becoming the Tanya that he was mortally afraid of again. It didn't mean he hadn't loved her, too, but he can't claim to have only married her for that. Perhaps she was the same. Perhaps she'd once cared for him, too, for reasons beyond utility. Maybe he hadn't been entirely fooling himself when he thought her happy in those years.

She is still the strongest person he knows, so he decides she can handle hearing the truth, and to her question he replies an honest "no." She just nods calmly in response.

"How long's it been?" He shrugs and shakes his head.

"I'm not sure, exactly. Whenever I stopped being able to convince myself you were the same person you used to be, I suppose." She smiles, though not kindly.

"You should have no reason to complain. I've done everything you asked." She hadn't though. She'd never done the one thing he'd most wanted.

"On that count," he says with a wry smile, "I'm going to have to disagree." She looks downright insulted by that.

"I've been a good wife," she counters.

"Tanya," he says, unable to keep a bit of laughter out of his voice at how badly she _always _misunderstands the point, "if I wanted a good wife, do you really think I would have married you?"

She freezes for a second, and he sees a flash of…of _her_ again as she gazes through him, and he thinks he can see the cogs spinning in her mind. "I think I asked to know you once. The real you. It's the only task I've ever seen you fail to perform," he tells her, just in case she'd forgotten.

"You…you really did love me," she says, beginning to laugh. It's not a happy laugh. It's a laugh like she's the butt of a cruel joke, and is only just now figuring that out. At least it's not fake. "_Me_," she repeats, "you loved _me_."

"…yes…?" he replies, not sure what she's getting at. Neither were overly affectionate people, but it's not as though he'd never told her so. It dawns on him that maybe she thinks he loved her for the wrong reasons. Wealthy older men with pretty younger wives always have suspect intentions.

"I…I didn't just want someone to bring to dinner parties, you know," he mutters. He's a bit offended. She laughs all the harder at his petulance.

"I know, I know, I just thought…" she drifts off and shakes her head. "It doesn't matter any longer. You gave me exactly the life I said I wanted," she relents, with a touch of gentleness.

He nods, relieved that at least she doesn't think him _that _low, though why he cares for her opinion at all anymore he can't say. "Am I too boring now that you've given me a happy life?" she asks, as ever hitting the proverbial nail on the head.

"You aren't happy," he contradicts. He's no longer sure about many things in regards to her, but of that he has no doubt.

"Am I not?" she asks, tone so innocent it's as though she doesn't already know the answer.

"You pretend to be."

"I don't fool you?"

"Not anymore," he tells her, unable to keep a sigh out of the reply.

"I don't even fool myself, anymore," she whispers. It still hurts to hear the bitterness in her tone. "How pathetic," she continues, and he doesn't know if she's referring to him, herself, or both. "If only I hadn't convinced you to give up cigarettes," she laments. "I think I could use one about now."

"Me too," he chuckles, and reaches into a pocket.

She arches a brow. "It seems I'm not the only one with secrets." Stupid as it sounds, it had mattered, at one point, to feel like he'd kept something back from her, when she insisted on keeping so much from him. He doesn't even like them anymore, but once a year, the day after their anniversary, he always has a cigarette or two in some childish act of rebellion.

He takes one and lights it, then passes both the pack and lighter to her. She does the same. She frowns at the taste but takes a long draw nonetheless. "You know," she says, after two minutes of silence, "we probably deserved each other." She's smiling now. A bit of a sad one, but a real smile. Not one tinged with malice or false cheer.

"On that point, we can agree," he replies, with an answering grin, and he thinks, just maybe, they will become friends again.

* * *

_A/N: I'm back with more things you didn't want to read!_

_Has Tanya been carrying out a secret relationship with Visha the whole time? Are they going to A) Get divorced B) Stay married as friends C) Actually have a real conversation and work it out? For now, you can choose what suits you to answer those questions. At the end of my story of how two people victimized themselves and each other by an inability to have a proper conversation, we can vote on whether we should have a conclusive ending._

_Thanks to everyone! Seriously, I appreciate it. I expected the good/bad review balance to be very much flipped from what it was. _


	3. Fifteen cars and fifteen restless riders

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**April 1, 1927  
General Staff Office, Imperial Capital Berun**

Soldiers don't have the luxury of taking their work lightly.

Often, their life is hanging in the balance, sometimes the lives of others along with it. A casual soldier might find himself in the ground sooner rather than later.

The Imperial Army was not an army of casual soldiers. An unrivaled paragon of martial professionalism, since the country's earliest incarnation as a state ruled by knights instead of courtiers the history of the Empire has better been understood as the history of an army than the history of a people.

At the head of the Imperial Army sat the General Staff, the officers who earned their way onto it perhaps the most respected men - and in modern times, women - in the country. Colonel Erich von Lehrgen had not gotten to his position by chance. A serious man with a serious job to do, he got along well with his superior officer, Lieutenant General Kurt von Rudersdorf, who was similarly inclined towards his work.

Both could appreciate a bit of humor, a soldier without any goes mad before long, and Rudersdorf was known to have a temper, but usually, both men could be found going about their work with a solemnity befitting their titles. That was why, at the moment, Colonel von Lehrgen found himself at a loss for words.

Looking at today's date, one could forgive children for playing pranks on their friends. Maybe Rudersdorf was feeling especially juvenile today, because despite the fact that neither man was known for excessive jocularity, Lehrgen was forced to wonder if the orders he had just been handed were his boss's idea of a practical joke.

_He knows how I feel about Degurechaff_, he lamented to himself, staring down at the paper in his hands as though it was written in a foreign language. _As a matter of fact, I think everyone knows how I feel about Degurechaff._

Little more needed to be said on that subject. Monster, abnormal, inhumane, killer doll, dangerous, has a screw loose. All of these and more were words he'd used to describe Lieutenant Colonel Tanya von Degurechaff. He wasn't alone among the officers in considering her thus, though he was the most vocal. She was other things, too, a true genius of a tactician, a patriotic citizen, ambitious. In anyone else he might have praised those qualities, but in her, they only brought out the worst.

Within the General Staff, there were precious few who hadn't heard him mutter complaints about her. General von Rudersdorf had even been present when Lehrgen had risked his own career to see her stopped, and her War College recommendation denied. So he'd like to ask why, of all people, it was him assigned to be her direct superior? There were plenty of others who would be a more natural fit, who would be ready and willing to work with her. On top of that, he hadn't been in command of active troops in ages, not since his days as a first lieutenant.

It was nice to have others think highly of you, but it would be great if they could keep their expectations realistic. What had he done to convince his superiors that he was capable of being in command of a highly irregular unit like the 203rd? They should know his talents lay in other areas. If it weren't for Degurechaff's strange passion for adherence to rules and hierarchy, he wondered if she'd take orders from him at all. She'd been a handful even for Romel, who had a personality better suited to dealing with her and was a Lieutenant General besides. Unfortunately, an army was not the type of organization in which you were allowed to refuse assignments even when they were impossible, so he couldn't object.

After a few moments of silence, during which no hint of a smile appeared on the other man's face to suggest that this might be a jest in extremely poor taste, Lehrgen nodded and replied "very good, sir," then left to go lock himself in his office and stick his head in his hands for a few minutes. As soon as he was in his chair, he pulled open a drawer and found a bottle of aspirin for the burgeoning headache.

He wondered how many years, at this point, Degurechaff had shaved off of his life due to anxiety. The way things were going he might not make it to forty. Whether the official cause of death would be by heart attack, aneurysm, or complications from a stomach ulcer wasn't yet clear, but whatever the case, she would definitely be at fault. At times, he wondered if he shouldn't just tempt her into outright murdering him, so at the very least his death would result in the military police arresting her and removing her from service.

Silently, he drew a book of matches from his pocket, striking one to light a cigarette. If he'd been a more impulsive man, he might have set fire to the documents sitting on his desk before he put the flame out, taking pleasure in watching the words go up in smoke and imagining their disappearance would erase all memory of them ever existing.

Summoning the willpower to give his next assignment a thorough review, he unfolded the papers and unconsciously smoothed them out, as though making them look more presentable might somehow improve his attitude towards their contents.

What he found gave him a pleasant shock. He readjusted his glasses and read it again to make sure he hadn't missed some detail that would spoil the good news. His command would largely be in name only. He leaned his head back and gave a sigh of relief. His contact with Degurechaff would be limited to infrequent visits to whichever circle of hell disguised under the innocuous name of "front" she occupied.

Lehrgen's primary task was to begin negotiations with the Kingdom of Ildoa. More than anything, the Empire needed an ally. Someone to hand off the Southern Continent to so that their forces could be concentrated on the Eastern Front where they were needed most. With every step they went east, the north-to-south stretch of the front grew longer. His titular placement at the head of a combat group was simply to provide an alibi for his whereabouts while deals were made in secret.

He couldn't pretend that it thrilled him to think of another country joining the fray. No matter that it was to finally be on their side, every step towards expanding the war only took them one step closer to the nightmarish scenario Degurechaff had written up when she described an entire continent descending into madness, war the only economy and death the only export.

_Well, I'm not going to complain too much_, Lehrgen sighed. Backroom negotiations intended to end the greatest war mankind had ever seen might not be what one would call a simple job, but it was infinitely preferable to his original conception of the assignment. In comparison to dealing with Degurechaff, it was positively enjoyable.

With a satisfied nod, he folded the paper and put it in his briefcase. He'd head out to the Eastern Front as soon as possible to get the most unpalatable bit of his duties over first - meeting with his new subordinate - and then he'd go south, aiming to put a stop to the war, which would mean a stop to Degurechaff's climb through the ranks.

If the weather out east was anything like that in Berun, the winter was officially over. Any snow should be long gone, so there would be no delays in the rail service to get him to, and more importantly, from, the front. Then, he could then look forward to spending a balmy few weeks in Ildoa. He didn't mind the cold, he'd grown up in the far eastern reaches of the Empire, but after a long winter, it would be a welcome respite.

He made a mental note to brush up on the Ildoan language. Diplomacy would almost certainly be carried out in Françoise or Albionian, both of which he knew well. Still, it never hurt to understand the native language of your hosts. He might catch wind of additional intelligence if he could overhear conversations others thought he couldn't follow. He was assured several long train rides over the coming days, which would give plenty of opportunity for study.

**April 4, 1927  
Schlesischer Bahnhof, Imperial Capital Berun**

The piercing whistle of an approaching train only added to the eerie atmosphere of the empty station. A haunting, distant wail warning everything in its path of danger, it was the only sound to be heard above the light patter of rain on the roof of the platform.

Berun's major train stations, on the average day, were among the loudest places in the entire city. Bustling with travelers, the atriums were a clamor of feet and voices, the platforms each inundated by the sound of clanging bells, steaming whistles, screeching brakes and shouting attendants, the farewells between passengers and those left behind barely making themselves heard.

There was something almost unnatural to the quiet of the pre-dawn hour, to a liminal space meant to be full and in motion sitting hollow and still. Roused out of a sort of standing doze a few minutes later by the noise of the train pulling in, Colonel von Lehrgen stifled a yawn as he leaned over and looked down the tracks, the creeping sensation that he wasn't meant to be there fading as the sleepy station came awake.

A scattering of businessmen and what looked to be a group of elderly women traveling together had, by now, joined him on the platform, though it was still a lonely scene. He glanced at the nearest clock, noting with satisfaction that the train was coming in exactly on schedule, a few minutes before the hour. The fourth year of the war was drawing to a close; it gave him hope for the state of the country that the burdens of blockades and ever-changing fronts hadn't yet become cause for erratic service. After the winter they'd had, hope was what he needed.

He'd never been a man of extravagant appetites, a trait which he'd never been more thankful for. Even for those who could afford the expense, a decent variety of food was getting harder and harder to come by. His fellow citizens were nearly all beset by drawn and tired faces, only exchanged for smiles by the thought that it would finally be over soon. There were no other great powers bordering the Empire. The Federation was the last thing standing in their way.

Lehrgen pulled out his pocket watch - a bit of an affectation, at this point, most military men had given them up in favor of wristwatches, but the old heirloom lent an air of refinement to a life becoming increasingly occupied by utilitarian concerns. It was running fast, as it was wont to do, reading a minute past five, and he pulled off a glove to reset it according to the precise accuracy of the station's timekeeping.

The air was cold on the exposed hand, the morning dark and damp. The sun wouldn't be up to warm the city for another hour and a half, but he was appreciative of the chill for its help in keeping him awake. Though, the two cups of coffee he'd had before leaving the house were probably helping more.

He was used to long hours, and some of his weariness was the accumulated weight of not having slept a full night in what felt like months, if not years. But even by his standards, this day would be tiring. He'd take any help he could remaining alert, including cooperative weather.

He liked to think he had good reason for the early morning departure. The line he was traveling terminated in Konigsberg, so he'd have to transfer trains there regardless, and he was long overdue for a visit home. Work always came before personal business, especially in trying times, but even if he were to head directly to the front he would arrive late into the evening, when little would be expected of him until the next day.

If things went to plan, he'd instead arrive to his final destination in the early hours of the following morning, cutting out another few hours of badly needed sleep. Boarding the first train to Konigsberg and the last one out would give him time in between to hire a car and make a quick stop in to the family estate that lay outside the city. He saw little enough of bucolic tranquility these days, and it would be a nice break between the busy office and the maelstrom of the Eastern Front.

The countryside between Berun and Konigsberg was largely farmland, which grew repetitive after a time. There was something comforting, though, in observing the farmers beginning their days, their routines little changed since the dawn of the agricultural revolution some ten thousand years or more in the past. No matter how well or badly the war was going, cows still needed milking and fields still needed tending. The Imperial Army had millions of mouths to feed.

Snapping himself out of what had grown into an overly romanticized reflection on the consistency of farm labor, Lehrgen tried to refocus on his work. For the next several hours, he alternated between reading his stack of briefings and studying the Ildoan language. He ordered coffee nearly each time the service cart came through, the gentle rocking along the tracks threatening him with sleep.

The train pulled into Konigsberg just past one in the afternoon. He made the fifteen-minute walk north from the central station to the river, needing a short break between train and taxi. The city was the same as ever. Full of beautiful churches and streets lined with colorful, Dutch-style buildings, the variegated rooflines added a visual flair that Berun lacked. It gave one the impression of stepping back in time, if the cars rumbling along the roads could be ignored.

The city was as of yet untouched by the war, at least physically. There was a wariness evident in the eyes of most of the adult residents, who knew enough of current affairs to know that the front was too close for their liking. After making a quick walk along the banks of the Pregel, Lehrgen knocked on the window of a cab idling on the street.

The driver was hesitant to go the requested distance at first. He hastily changed his mind after sufficient funds were withdrawn from a wallet to pay the man what he'd usually earn for an entire day's work. The ride took about an hour, and then Lehrgen stepped out into a courtyard where a servant was already waiting to take his bag.

Strategizing for the military had given him an intense dislike for surprise changes to plans, so he had phoned ahead to inform his family of his pending arrival. His brother's children, seven and four, were the first to greet him. They were shooed away by a nanny after a minute of frenetic jumping which he tolerated but wouldn't go so far as to say he enjoyed, and then he was ushered into the dining room, where a late lunch awaited him.

_Even the estates aren't eating like they used to, _Lehrgen thought, looking down at his plate. It was tasty, but that was owed to the quality of the cook rather than the quality of the ingredients. It was a good thing he took his coffee with cream only. With the Commonwealth's blockade, even sugar was missing from most tables these days.

"Do we need to worry about what's going on in Warsau?" his mother asked, after the first course had been served.

"I wouldn't take a trip there," he replied carefully.

Officially, nothing was happening in Warsau, but it was hard to keep all news from spreading, especially when it came to people who had plenty of idle time for gossip.

The truth was, the Federation had learned too quickly and too well from the Empire. Over the past decade or two, the relationship between the Imperial government and its Polaskan territories had been good, but there were many who remembered when that wasn't the case, who still considered the Empire an occupying power. When each year meant less food on the table, you couldn't blame people for wondering whether they'd be involved in a war if they had their independence.

Of course, most knew that the answer was yes. As a neutral state bounded by Europa's largest countries, they might have fared even worse when the two went to war. But when the Federation offered independence, with their protection, it began to look possible. Ownership had been transitioning, but a region where most of the large farms and factories were still owned by Germanian families was ripe for the sort of workers' revolution the communists insisted was necessary. It was no rebellion yet, but it was a thorn in the side of the Imperial government.

"We'll just have to wait to go until the war's over. Should be soon, yes?" his father interjected.

Erich caught his brother Otto's questioning look, and gave a single, short shake of his head, then had to stop himself from smiling inopportunely. Some things never changed. Their father would never believe that the Empire was anything less than invincible.

He could see how it might look that way from the outside. They'd progressed stunningly fast through Federation territory at first. The country had attacked suddenly, before their army had mobilized fully, as though the leader had been in a sudden pique one day and thought it would be fun to fire a few shots over the border. But between the vast distance that Imperial supplies had to travel to get to any active front and the entirety of the Federation's forces called up to do battle, the situation had slowed into little better than a stalemate.

In the hopes of breaking it, the occupied territories had been scraped of their garrisons to provide the men for a spring offensive. Predictably, this had emboldened the resistance fighters, but so far, it was just another thorn, not a major threat to the integrity of the Empire.

Regardless, victory certainly could not be described as "at hand." The Empire's plans to defend their own borders had never included how to spread their men among multiple occupation zones and a front that ran from the Black Sea to the eastern Baltic, let alone battles across the Mediterranean. At this point, it was more ingenuity preventing a crack in the lines than anything else. They'd advanced too far, too fast, but there was no way to reveal that when the fact that he was about to go off begging for an ally was a state secret.

_And anyway, additional information won't do much good_, he thought to himself. Even had he wanted to break confidentiality, there was little more the family could do to prepare for the worst-case scenario. Every landholder in the east knew there was a chance their estates would have to be abandoned in a hurry. His home in Berun - the family home, really - had been the lucky recipient of most valuables.

_The housekeeper must have an easier time dusting these days_, he smiled ruefully to himself. The ornamental trinkets, heavy silver candlesticks and decorative chinaware, anything they could live without had been carefully wrapped and boxed and shipped to Berun as soon as war with the Federation had been declared.

When the meal finished, the family retired to a drawing room to continue the conversation. Half an hour in, he noticed a familiar piece of paper in his niece's hand and quickly snatched it away. Some random childish whim must have compelled her to peruse the pockets of his coat while it hung in the hall. He tried to remember at what age children learned to read proficiently and decided that aside from a certain anomaly that he was determined not to think about until tomorrow, a seven-year-old would not be able to make heads or tails of the classified document.

_She'll cause trouble with that habit one day_, Lehrgen thought, shaking his head. He'd have to be careful as she grew older. His briefcase was often full of information not meant for other eyes, and it would be troublesome if his own family couldn't be trusted not to go through it.

He bade them goodbye when the hour came, and then it was back into his cab and back onto the train for the evening, taking another cup of coffee as soon as he boarded. He'd like nothing more than to rest his head against the window and let the train's steady advance towards the front fade into nothing more than a bad dream, but soldiers didn't get luxuries like that.

* * *

_A/N: For the fifteen people who care, I decided I'll continue the story :)  
_

_Quick level-setting note assuming most people have only watched the anime: the personalities are based almost entirely on the light novels. Salaryman/Tanya is less psycho and more just humongously selfish. Anime Lehrgen starts off super-disliking Tanya but pretty quickly seems to get on board the "yeah there's something kinda off but she's useful/I respect her" train that all the other characters are on. LN Lehrgen, at least through Vol. 6, maintains an intense fear-fascination of her and appears to be convinced that his true purpose in life is to be anti-Tanya._

_Also, I feel like I need to say I am a bond trader by day. My skills include math, bullshitting people over the phone, and listening to people yell for no reason. Narrative writing is something I have never done. If anyone has criticism on how to improve the flow, sentence structure, etc I'm glad to hear it._

_Besides that, my hobbies are linguistics, classical music, gardening, and going on super long train rides. I like history. I'm not a historian. I'm especially not a military historian. Please forgive the errors I will surely make and feel free to comment with corrections that I will do my best to include._


	4. Who's the scariest of them all?

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_Just to eliminate any confusion, last chapter, this chapter, and all future chapters besides a possible final one for closure will be the origin story of how they ended up seven years deep in an unhappy marriage. Just a heads up, this will be rather slow. I'm not saying I will take zero cheap shortcuts or am capable of keeping everyone completely in character, but I'll try, so it's going to take some time._

**April 4, 1927  
Imperial Province of East Preussland**

An Imperial officer's uniform granted one a certain amount of power, even outside the Army.

Not every citizen could judge an exact rank from shoulder insignia and collar, but most could deduce that more decoration indicated a higher position. A man with braids on his shoulder instead of stripes commanded automatic deference.

If an Imperial officer, running late for his train, needed to push his way through a crowded station, people moved aside and issued apologies for being in the way instead of muttering curses under their breath. Where the average man might be accused of being late because of a personal defect, an officer was presumed late because of a tireless, unrelenting schedule.

When Colonel von Lehrgen put his bag and coat down on the seat next to him, he did not immediately follow, first taking the time to straighten out his uniform and collect his thoughts. He wasn't so unfit from constant desk work that his run for the train had made him winded, but, unused to being late, the experience had left him out-of-sorts. Though he'd never been unduly concerned with appearances, _disheveled _was not the first word he wanted coming to mind.

Taking a deep breath, he dropped into his seat, closed the curtain, and turned on a light. From out of his fast-fraying briefcase he drew the stack of papers that had Lieutenant Colonel von Degurechaff's latest briefing, taking out a pencil as well so that any questions that occurred to him could be scribbled out and asked of her once he arrived.

Page unmarked and pencil unused, both were placed back in the case once he'd finished. For the first time in his memory, he needed neither clarification nor further detail. No omissions, no oversights, nothing ambiguous or extraneous. Her explanation was clear, methodical, and concise, worthy of being passed out as an example to all other officers on how their own briefings should be written. _It's annoying to admit, but it's perfect, _Lehrgen thought, with a shake of his head.

"Excuse me, Colonel?" he heard a few hours later, accompanied by a knock at the door to his compartment. He looked up and saw Lieutenant Colonel Ugar. Lehrgen shuffled his papers into the appearance of organization and bade him enter.

"I was wondering if I might bother you for a favor," Ugar told him, thankfully getting straight to the point of his interruption. "I hear you're bound for the front."

Lehrgen nodded in confirmation. "I'm getting off at the next station, but there's a few items I'd like to see sent on that will need to be personally delivered," Ugar continued.

Lehrgen didn't know Ugar very well, but the man had always given him the impression of being competent and well-meaning, so Lehrgen figured it wouldn't hurt to do as he asked. A colonel wasn't typically used as an errand boy, but with personnel as strained as it was, he took no insult to being asked to serve in that capacity.

"That's not a problem," he replied.

"Thank you, sir, I'll be back in a minute," Ugar said, giving a quick salute before exiting.

He returned carrying a few boxes, which he placed on the empty seats across from Lehrgen.

"Coffee and chocolates for Lieutenant Colonel von Degurechaff. I wish I could give them to her in person but…" he trailed off with a shrug, shaking his head in disappointment.

"I do hope that isn't meant for her," Lehrgen said, raising an eyebrow and pointing at the small bottle of liquor that was balanced atop the boxes.

"No, sir," Ugar laughed. "Consider that my thanks for the assistance."

"It's no trouble."

"I received it as a gift myself, and I don't drink, so someone should enjoy it."

"An officer who doesn't drink is a rare creature," Lehrgen said with a hint of a smile. It was entirely possible Berun's bars were making better profits than the military's armaments suppliers at this point.

"I want to set a good example for my daughter," Ugar told him, pulling out a small picture of the girl from his wallet and handing it over.

Lehrgen reluctantly took it, hoping he wasn't going to sit through half an hour of humoring a proud parent while Ugar told him every last thing about the girl.

"Very...cute," he said, with a forced smile. It wasn't a lie, exactly, but to Lehrgen, she was indistinguishable from a thousand other Imperial children.

"It's strange to think that the Lieutenant Colonel looked like her not so long ago," Ugar commented.

_There's nothing similar about them besides being blonde girls, _Lehrgen thought to himself. Ugar's daughter was smiling at the camera with the sort of placid, round eyes that gave children their look of innocence. The orphanage had taken a photo of Degurechaff once a year, which he'd seen when he stopped by. The first ones were essentially normal, but in every picture from age three onwards it would be more correct to say that she was trying to stare the camera down than to say she was staring into the camera, her gaze intense in a way that was alarming on the face of a child.

"Hopefully your daughter won't grow up so fast," Lehrgen offered, trying to find something kind to say.

"Yes," Ugar agreed. "I can't help but be reminded of her whenever I see Colonel von Degurechaff, and how easily my daughter could have been in her place."

Lehrgen could do little else but smile politely and nod along, although he privately wondered what sort of father would want to compare his daughter to a girl that had a kill count so high it looked like an artillery number. They say there's things you can't understand until you have children of your own, but he didn't think this was one of them. Unless Ugar's daughter had recently done business with the devil himself, Lehrgen judged it unlikely that she had any chance of turning out similarly to the Army's youngest officer.

"I mean no criticism of high command," Ugar continued, "but it does seem a bit sad that we put boys and girls so young to use when they should be enjoying childhood."

Lehrgen resisted the urge to put a hand on Ugar's shoulder, tell him he seemed like a good man, and so, for the love of God, he should keep the hell away from Degurechaff before she corrupted him.

"Lieutenant Colonel von Degurechaff volunteered well before conscription age," he reminded Ugar, keeping out his personal suspicion that it was her way of finding a legal means to satisfy her bloodthirsty nature.

The other man shrugged. "I'm sure it seemed a nicer life than what she had at the orphanage," he replied.

Even after seeing her terrifying display of cruelty at the academy, Lehrgen had been willing to extend her the benefit of the doubt. He'd looked for some reason, any reason, that might have made her turn out so fundamentally broken. But there had been no abuse, no starvation, no religious or nationalist zealotry.

"Her orphanage was well-run and well-provisioned. I checked myself," he told Ugar, hoping to take some shine off the martyrdom that he apparently imagined for her. Ugar considered for a moment.

"Still," he said, tapping his chin, "before we were at war, I can't help but think the prospect of a rank that made her feel meaningful and the accompanying pocket money didn't seem worth the effort. She was going to have to go through training one day, and the sooner she got it out of the way the sooner she could start a better life."

Lehrgen nodded absently as an unpleasant tension gripped him. He'd told himself he'd given her a fair chance, that he'd looked for a reason, an excuse for how she turned out. Now that he thought about it, he had been looking for a reason she'd turned out to be some sort of monster, not a reason to disprove the thesis itself. He hadn't, perhaps, given enough thought to whether there might be some other reason behind her actions entirely. Had his preconception of her colored his ability to think critically? It had never occurred to him that she might have had a motive as simple as Ugar's for enlisting so early.

_No_, he decided. _No, if that were the only thing, then I might owe her an apology. But there are so many other malicious oddities about her. _Being sympathetic to her would only open an avenue for her to manipulate him with. She was smart enough and well-connected enough to know the two of them were at odds. Surely she'd find any excuse she could to defy him. Showing even the smallest ounce of pity for her could be disastrous.

Thankfully, the conversation turned to easier subjects in the final minutes before Ugar's departure, and the fleeting moment of doubt faded. After a few more hours, the train pulled into the closest station to the ever-moving front. His adjutant had gone immediately on when they stopped in Konigsberg, so was already there, his car waiting to take him to the field headquarters.

By most measures, the Rhine had been worse than the east by an order of magnitude. In the east, there were no squalid trenches. There weren't dead bodies mixed in amongst the living for them to trip over. The land hadn't yet been torn apart to resemble something more akin to an alien planet than a place fit for human habitation. There were no sinkholes made of mud to disappear into if one stepped in the wrong place. Successes usually resulted in real territory gains, not the taking of a handful of prisoners during a trench raid.

For Lehrgen personally, he had to say he preferred the western front. As an officer of some rank who was there to inspect, not to command, he was rarely, if ever, required to visit the frontline trenches. The trenches further back in the system weren't where he'd want to make a permanent home, but they had been outfitted with some minimal comforts. Often, he wasn't required to stay in the trenches at all, but was put up in the nearest town.

The northeast was rural and sparsely populated. Unless you were near the rare city along the current border, the "closest town" was usually more of a hamlet made up of a few homes so modest they still had thatched roofing. No matter if you were at rest or not, the living quarters were ad-hoc tents pitched and then collapsed as the front moved.

He ducked into what would be his own small tent for the next few nights and decided it was best he'd arrived already exhausted. He'd been awake for an hour shy of a full day, so the questionable comfort of the cot was all he needed to fall asleep straight away.

The activity of camp life didn't allow for sleeping in, so after what qualified as more of a nap than a night's rest, he was awakened by the surrounding clamor and rubbed the sleep from his eyes to start the day.

The sun shined brightly into the tent that served as headquarters, illuminating everything in an ethereal morning haze as steam rose off the wet ground. Almost on the verge of smiling at that combined with the pleasant aroma of fresh coffee, the high-pitched utterance of "Colonel von Lehrgen," that greeted him a second later instantly put him on edge. He turned slightly to his left to see Degurechaff standing at attention.

"Lieutenant Colonel von Degurechaff," he replied, returning her salute. "Your newest orders," he said, passing her the envelope that contained them.

Her adjutant brought him a cup of the fragrant coffee he'd smelled brewing while he waited for her to read them. Well-prepared coffee was a rarity on the front, so after taking his first sip and determining it was enjoyable instead of merely tolerable, he turned and passed his compliments to Lieutenant Serebryakov. It was no wonder Degurechaff kept her around. His new subordinate finished reading, looked up, and gave him a bizarrely radiant smile.

This was not an unusual occurrence. He'd never been able to figure out her attitude towards him. His best guess so far was that she was baring her teeth at him in a show of hostility and he was mistaking it for a more normal expression.

"I look forward to working with you, sir," she told him, and then gave orders to Serebryakov to summon Major Weiss. She waited for the other woman to leave before continuing their conversation.

"Am I to understand that in truth we are to be seeing very little of each other?" she asked, turning back to him.

"Yes. I have other duties to attend to and you have proven your ability to command with minimal oversight," he replied, unsurprised that she'd gleaned that information from her orders.

"If I may clarify, in your absence, do I have permission to operate based on my own assessment of the best course of action?" she continued.

He nodded. "So far as your decisions do not conflict with the overall strategy we will be discussing shortly, permission granted. If you deem it necessary to deviate you will inform me as soon as feasible, but if it is not possible to do so beforehand, you may act as you see fit in the meantime," he confirmed.

"May I ask where I should reach you, sir?"

She was much too sharp if she'd realized his nominal leadership was likely a front for something else. Having a smart subordinate was useful, but having one smarter than yourself could be troublesome.

"Headquarters will put you through," he said in lieu of an answer. She got the point, but continued digging nonetheless, ticking off options.

"I suppose you could be fomenting a rebellion in a second Federation principality," she mused. "Or, it's possible with the way things are going one of the neutral powers will declare for our side," she continued. He fought to keep his face from showing any reaction.

"The States or the Commonwealth might be willing to play both sides if it means the death of the Federation, so perhaps they'd be willing to provide loans, or if we're in such straits that we're considering capital infusions from less-than-friendly foreign powers, it's possible we're looking to make peace," she finished, drifting away from the correct answer.

Having gotten no indication of which guess was the right one, she gave a shrug. "In any case, I wish you success in your endeavors. I'd prefer not to endure another eastern winter with nothing more than a tent and blanket." _How novel, _he thought to himself._ There are parts of war that even she doesn't like._

"If I can be half as successful as you typically are, I'll count myself lucky," he answered. He wasn't above giving credit where it was due. She smiled at the compliment and then shifted back to contemplation.

"One more question, sir. If you are to disagree with a decision I made…?" she said, leaving the question unfinished.

"You will explain it to me and I will manage the rest," he confirmed. He didn't like it, but there was no help for it. "Though I think it more likely that your problem will be the opposite, and whatever glory you win will have to be shared," he told her.

She nodded. "A fair trade," was all she said. Most soldiers would jealously guard their triumphs, but if you took into account that she was in the war to have fun, not to win medals, her attitude made sense.

She sat down at the table across from him and unrolled a map. Serebryakov returned with Weiss moments later, and the strategy session began. It became clear within a few minutes that coffee was not the only reason Serebryakov was kept around. Her attitude was easy-going, but she had a keen mind and a quick sense of humor.  
Weiss was solidly capable as well. Lehrgen would wager Serebryakov was smarter, but the unit's second-in-command was a more well-rounded soldier, more able in both magical and non-magical combat and more seasoned. He could see why Degurechaff had recommended him as her successor. _Her judgment isn't bad on everything, _he reflected.

He also observed that she did seem to genuinely trust her subordinates, and that the trust was returned. Serebryakov he could understand, the woman had barely ever served another superior, so she probably didn't realize how exacting her lieutenant colonel was, but Weiss would have had commanders who were more jovial and less demanding. _Watching the person next to you constantly pull off near-miracles probably addles your brain after a time_, he decided.

Before he forgot, Lehrgen interjected a quick thank you for the work the three had done in realizing the faulty intelligence the interrogators had been getting out of the Federation prisoners. If not for them, his negotiations wouldn't be remotely possible. The distraction caused by a provincial rebellion in former Federation territory had shifted the balance enough in the Empire's favor that they could hope to make a case for a quick victory once their southern front was defended by an allied power.

"The credit is due to Lieutenant Serebryakov," Degurechaff said in response. "She recognized the error and was able to make the correct translations." The woman in question shook her head quickly.

"If Lieutenant Colonel von Degurechaff hadn't pressed the issue I wouldn't have realized what a problem it was," Serebryakov deflected, adding, "and if it weren't for Major Weiss, I don't think the prisoners would have talked."

Degurechaff gave a short laugh at that. "True, unfortunately neither my lieutenant nor I have the ability to make faces quite as intimidating as our Major here," she said, elbowing the man next to her.

The small lieutenant colonel was known for making faces so terrifying that it had inspired many grown men to fear her more than death. Lehrgen decided that for her next birthday, he was buying her a mirror.

* * *

_A/N The part in the LN where Tanya thinks she doesn't scare people made me laugh only slightly less than the part where the entire General Staff gets drunk and spends the next day all pretending not to have hangovers because if that doesn't perfectly describe what offices are like, I don't know what does._

_Also, on the subject of slightly different anime/LN characters, Visha. She's just kind of there in the anime being adorable. In the LN she starts out that way but becomes extremely competent. She picks up on hints well and is pretty funny when she wants to be. Anyway maybe I should trash my original plot and write a story about Visha accumulating a harem via coffee making._


	5. The Italian Job

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_Note: Since this one's a stretch, Minna=Munich.  
_

**April 7, 1927  
Outside Smolansk, Imperial Ober Ost**

From east to west and north to south, serving the largest cities down to provincial towns, through field and forest, over rivers and under mountains, the Empire's world-class rail system whisked its citizens away to nearly anywhere they desired at speeds that grew faster by the decade.

Despite this, as large as the country now was, especially counting the captured territory under administration, to ride from one end to another still took over a day once connections were factored in. When time was of the essence, a new technology had come to replace an overnight ride - the airplane. Given the choice between the two, Colonel Erich von Lehrgen would have gladly taken the longer journey, even if he couldn't be guaranteed a spot in first class and had to suffer the discomforts of sleeping in his seat. He would even have taken a schedule where one of his connections was spent shivering on a platform in the middle of the night; however, due to the distance between the northeastern front and his final destination in Ruma, the Army had decided to dispatch a pilot to fly him to Minna, from which he'd board the train south.

He'd never ridden in an aircraft before, and although he knew the physics were theoretically sound, something about being thousands of meters in the air with nothing besides a piece of large cloth to rescue him in the event of failure made him innately apprehensive about the whole idea. He trusted the Empire's engineers, but nobody was perfect. Accidents weren't by any means unheard of.

He'd known flying was in his future when he'd received his orders, so he'd made his peace with it over the few days in between. It wasn't how he'd imagined sacrificing himself for his country when he'd signed on for a career as a soldier, but risking his life was part of the job description. Compared to most of his compatriots fighting in the trenches who had to wake up every day wondering if it would be there last, he'd gotten off easily so far. He'd gone to bed the night before his flight reminding himself to be thankful for that.

His next memory was shooting up in bed, startled into wakefulness. Though really, during his first recollections of the morning he was already in an upright position. He only assumed he'd shot up in bed because as far as he was aware, he'd never been known to sleep sitting up.

Awakening to predawn mists was a feeling he was well-accustomed to, but the relative silence outside his tent told him that it wasn't the whistle announcing the start to the day that had roused him. The silence could only be described as relative, because a camp never truly went to sleep the way his leafy neighborhood on the outskirts of Berun did. He couldn't remember his dream, but it was unlikely that the pounding of his heart could be ascribed to anything other than another vision of spiraling down out of the sky.

Tired, frustrated, and more than anything disappointed in himself, he flopped back down onto his pillow - he'd have to remember to thank his adjutant for finding him one - and dragged the scratchy bedspread back up under his chin to guard against the cold. He didn't know what time it was, he refused to check his watch and see what ungodly hours he was keeping, but he was determined to stay abed until the official start to the day.

Thirty minutes later, by his estimate, he was still awake. An _hour _and thirty minutes later as well, and the call to rise still hadn't sounded, so he broke his own promise and turned over to reach for the uniform folded on the ground next to him. He found the pack of matches he was searching for and struck one, putting it to the kerosene lamp by his bed and illuminating the tent in a soft glow. If he couldn't sleep, he might as well work. He lit a cigarette with the same match, cursing under his breath when the flame burned down too far and nipped at his fingers.

_Not yet, _he repeated to himself nearly every other minute. A nervous energy had taken hold, compelling him to go in search of the plane he'd ride in, as though looking at it would make any difference. He wouldn't even know what to look _for_. Unless a wing or a propeller was missing, he wouldn't be able to tell that something was amiss. He did his best to let his work distract him, but mostly he ended up being distracted from his work, accomplishing little beyond putting his signature to a few items that didn't require a thorough review.

He was the first one in the officers' mess, but after two bites of toast he couldn't stomach another, so he did a tour of the camp, a final inspection before he left, the brisk air calming until he unconsciously arrived in front of the makeshift flight field twenty minutes ahead of schedule.

What he hadn't counted on during even his worst imaginations of what might go wrong was that he'd be caught looking doubtfully at the plane, anxiously going over the parachute he'd found a few times to make sure everything looked in order, by someone who could neither appreciate nor understand fear. A normal human could have sympathized with his position, left him feeling relieved instead of deeply ashamed of his own cowardice.

"Ahh, pardon me, Colonel," he heard from behind him, and he only just prevented himself from jumping. "Lieutenant Sauer asked me to give this to you and tell you he'll be by with the rest of your things in fifteen minutes."

Lehrgen took his briefcase from Degurechaff's outstretched hand. "I was already heading out this way," she continued, "this is the area I've been using for training when we have the time to spare."

"If there's one unit in this entire army that doesn't need further training, I think it's yours," he commented wryly.

She shook her head. "The replacements I was sent aren't up to the level of the men before them. They're a danger to the rest of my battalion until I've drilled the conventional learning out of them."

"Just so long as you don't kill any of them in the process," he admonished, to the officer who needed that reminder more than any other.

"Nothing but aerial maneuvers today. Flying alone doesn't tend to be deadly."

"Falling does, though," Lehrgen shot back to what had felt like a jab at his own anxiety.

"Not always," Degurechaff laughed, "I've survived it a few times."

Looking back at it later, Lehrgen would conclude that she may have actually been trying to help. Whatever her intentions, she went about her attempt at small talk in such a backwards fashion that it was tearing any lingering confidence Lehrgen had that he'd survive his journey to shreds. She began to share some of her own flying and parachute mishaps, which under other circumstances may have qualified as a conversation he was willing to have with her, but at the moment was making him wonder whether she'd bite if he slapped a hand over her mouth to shut her up and stop her from giving him more things to worry about.

She hadn't been an especially talkative person in the few days he'd been with her on the front. Why she'd chosen now of all times to strike up a vaguely personal conversation was a question he'd pay to have an answer to. He'd never heard her speak more than a sentence or two at a time about anything besides practical matters. Not that he was complaining. The less she talked to him, the better. Hearing her reminisce, even though it wasn't a fond reminiscence, was strangely disconcerting. He thought of her as a fellow soldier, so talking about work was fine, but he had trouble thinking of her as a fellow human being, so hearing that she had personal feelings on any subject was nothing short of jarring.

Nothing, though, would top the pure mortification of being patronized by someone half his age and size. Finished with her ramblings about near-death experiences, the girl who regularly risked getting shot from the sky and had once been strapped to a long-range missile decided the appropriate way to end the discussion was to reach up and pat his shoulder over his continued unease about what amounted to a short, safe, and simple flight. A comradely clap on the arm wasn't the same coming from someone who wasn't old enough to buy a beer.

Instead of departing and leaving him in peace, she stayed standing there, her eyes darting around like she was hunting for clues to his destination until he wanted to ask her whether she didn't have better things to do, like prepare for whatever torture she was about to inflict on the newest members of her battalion.

"It's a shame you aren't allowed to bring your new subordinate along with you," she joked, after a minute passed in silence. "It's good for me to give Major Weiss some experience with commanding every so often."

Lehrgen had to disagree with her there. Being stuck for hours in captivity with Degurechaff sounded rather like a brief visit to hell, to say nothing of the fact that he was on a diplomatic mission. His objectives would be difficult to achieve if he had someone tagging along who didn't realize disputes could be settled with means other than a weapon.

"There's so many foreign foods I'd like to try," she sighed when he didn't respond, closing her eyes as if in longing.

_So she has at least one thing she likes besides bloodshed, _Lehrgen thought, the admission startling to him. Maybe he should figure out how to send her on a gourmet tour of the world until the war was over so that she couldn't continually make their situation worse.

"You don't know I'm going to another country," he reminded her.

"You wouldn't be flying if you were going back to Berun," she replied with a smirk.

"The Empire is quite large," he deflected.

"You know, if I came along, you wouldn't have to worry about your parachute failing."

It pained Lehrgen deeply to admit it, but he very nearly had a change of heart about her value as a companion. All aerial mages were required to be able to carry an additional person for short distances. In the event of disaster, having her there would almost guarantee his survival. Owing his life to her into perpetuity would complicate things, but at least he'd be alive.

"You have important work to do here."

She gave a little start, like she'd been on the verge of forgetting herself. Luckily, before he'd gotten too far into changing his mind on whether he might not mind her company, she revealed her true motive.

"I'd never be derelict in my duties, sir. A foreign assignment would be a perfect chance to assess other armies firsthand," she replied stiffly.

That would be a no. On second thought, he'd have to make sure Degurechaff never went anywhere that wasn't already destined to be a battlefield. He didn't need her to find new places or peoples she'd like to involve in her beloved war.

Thankfully, his adjutant interrupted them a minute later carrying the small trunk of Lehrgen's personal effects he took around with him, and shortly thereafter his pilot made his presence known. With no little amount of unease, Lehrgen climbed on board.

With a great shudder, the plane came to life. It shook the entirety of the time it sped down the dirt track, and Lehrgen thought for sure it would fall apart the first time a gust of wind came for it. It lifted off the ground, the curious sensation causing white knuckles and closed eyes, worsened by a disorienting feeling of floating freely for a second while they changed directions, and then it was leveled in the sky and his heartbeat was finally slowing back to a normal rhythm.

After all the energy he'd spent worrying about it, it was almost a letdown that the ride was so uneventful. Not wanting to attempt conversation with the pilot and draw his concentration away from keeping them steady in the air, Lehrgen took a deep breath and peered down below. His fears disappeared momentarily, or at least took a back seat to wonder at the view of cities and towns from the air, the neat clusters of civilization giving way to a patchwork of farms in between. With the countless hours he spent poring over maps, his knowledge of geography was second only to a few other officers, so he could estimate their progress, guessing at what regions he was flying over as they went.

Minna ranked among Lehrgen's favorite cities in the Empire, a sentiment widely shared by his countrymen. The Bevarians didn't conform as strictly to the Preussian codes of conduct as the Army would have liked, but in private, no officer could say that serving alongside their units wasn't fun. Any career soldier had one or two good stories about them.

The spires of their finest city were visible from a distance, and Lehrgen kept his eyes trained on them as long as he could so he didn't have to see the ground growing closer as they landed. There would be no time for a quick stopover in the city today, but he couldn't contemplate eating lunch just yet anyways.

At the main train station, he met his cover story, highly recommended by Intelligence, joining him as part of her own espionage assignment. Couples vacationing together were inherently less suspicious than foreign nationals crossing the border by themselves, and both governments involved wanted no record of their militaries meeting. For the next few weeks they would be Mr. & Mrs. Schneider, with passports to prove it. They were recently married, honeymooning somewhere warmer, sunnier, and happier than home. Theoretically, she didn't know what he was going to Ildoa for. If the rumors about her were to be believed, she almost certainly had found out one way or another.

"Second Lieutenant Elya Weber, sir" she introduced herself with a salute before they stepped into their cabin on the train.

"Where were you assigned before this?" he asked, falling back on an easy form of small talk between soldiers.

"I got in from Parisee yesterday. And you, sir?"

"Flew in from Smolansk this morning."

"Smolansk?" she asked, head perking up. "Where the Argent's unit is?"

Lehrgen had to restrain himself from knocking his head against the window. Even now Degurechaff haunted him. "Yes," he answered grudgingly.

"You wouldn't happen to have met her adjutant?"

"Lieutenant Serebryakov?"

"She was my roommate after we were first recruited. I do hope she was doing alright, sometimes I can't believe she's survived so long. She cried each time the drill instructor yelled at her for the first month."

"As far as I could see she's adjusted well," Lehrgen answered. "Lieutenant Colonel von Degurechaff always speaks highly of her."

"Good," Elya replied, checking her nails and taking a file out from her bag when she found one wanting. "Training made sisters out of us despite our backgrounds. She was minor nobility back when the Federation was the Tsardom, you know. I was just a girl putting on a show at Rudi's."

Lehrgen blinked a few times and took a deep breath. He wasn't going to judge anyone's personal circumstances, so he wouldn't hold Lieutenant Weber's past against her. He was sure she'd made good money, if the straining buttons at the top of her uniform were any indication, but Rudi's wasn't the sort of establishment that most women would freely admit to working in. It was famous - or rather, infamous - to any long-time resident of Berun, though Lehrgen had never visited himself.

"I hope you don't recognize too many officers from your time there," he replied after a minute, deciding the best way to handle it was to treat it with the same nonchalance that she was.

She cocked her head in confusion, and then dissolved into a fit of laughter.

"Apologies, sir," she said, wiping at her eyes, "in Dresdun, Rudi's was an independent theatre house. I ought to have clarified."

Lehrgen's hand went to cover his eyes in humiliation. "I believe it's I who owe you an apology," he groaned. "I didn't mean to imply you seemed-"

"No offense taken," she said, waving her hands in front of her and then giving him an impish grin. "Should I be honored that a man of such worldly experience has decided I'm worth settling down for, sir? I do believe I count as your first wife."

"Lieutenant Weber," he humored her, "Since we're still in uniform I ought to give you a warning for that, but for now I'll call us even."

"But will we not soon be seeing each other out of uniform, sir?" she asked, the coquettish grin telling him that he'd failed to chasten her with the admonition, and that she was having fun seeing what she could get away with.

"Certain liberties will be granted seeing the role that we're playing," he conceded, before pointedly taking the conversation to a safer subject. "Do you plan on going back into acting after the war?"

"A spy is always an actress," she commented. "And it's much more exciting when there are more consequences to forgetting your line than being booed offstage."

It was becoming increasingly clear to him why Elya had been considered a natural fit for the current assignment. Not only was she skilled at subterfuge, she was…well, he'd just say that she was the type of woman men liked to impress and leave it at that.

This was proved true shortly into their journey. Their passports were good fakes, they were official issue after all, but just in case there were any questions, she made sure the border guards' attention was elsewhere. Lehrgen wasn't sure they even looked at him a single time. They were much too focused on her description of the bathing suit she'd brought, and how she hoped something so modern wouldn't offend the good people of Ildoa.

So began their meandering train ride south, from the border at Prenner where thick snow drifts had yet to melt, down through the flat northern plains, and to Firenzo, where the flowers were already in bloom. There, they made their final connection, waiting in a station that would never have passed Imperial inspection for the train to Ruma. The journey was remarkably less productive than Lehrgen had planned on it being, every conversation with Elya a chance for her to prod information out.

He didn't need her trying the same thing on him as she had the poor Ildoan border police. He wanted to think it wouldn't work, but he'd prefer not to test that theory. Eventually he'd given up on trying to accomplish anything, leaned his head back, pulled his hat over his eyes, and pretended to sleep for a few hours.

They checked in to a hotel together, he waved to the doorman as he announced he was off to buy cigarettes, and never returned. He would be staying at a different hotel under a different name, though he met Elya every day for either lunch or dinner to exchange any pertinent information. He wholly enjoyed her company for an hour or so, but any more than that and he had to begin watching what he said around her.

Lehrgen met his Ildoan counterpart the day after he arrived. Domenico Boroni was a portly, gregarious man in his mid-50s. He was never without a cigar, and complained often about his gout, though not as often as he complained about his mother-in-law. He was sure the woman was still alive just to spite him. The five Boroni children were all still living off of their father's largesse, much to his chagrin.

It took over a week of negotiations to reach a preliminary agreement. The Ildoans had their eyes on the Republican colonial territories on the Southern Continent. If they agreed to distract the Republic by opening a new front along the border between the Republican and Ildoan territories, it would free the Empire to send troops from the south to the thinly defended eastern lines.

Any progress at all was good news, but the slow pace of the negotiations eventually wore on Lehrgen. The people of Ildoa had a rather indulgent attitude towards time. He sometimes considered whether he should defect and take up a position on the staff there. Apparently, he'd only be required to be at work about four hours out of the day, and up to three of those hours could be spent getting coffee, kicking his feet up on the desk and smoking a cigarette, or roaming around the office asking after the details of his colleagues' personal lives.

After a few weeks, Lehrgen thought he might know Boroni's secretary better than the man himself. She at least maintained a semi-regular schedule and responded to his inquiries in a timely fashion. On the other hand, Signor Boroni existed, so far as he could tell, in three states. He was either not yet at work, was on his lunch break, or was napping. _Napping! _How nice it would be to tell his bosses that he'd get right to it…after lunch and a nap.

Lehrgen wondered if the behavior wasn't a calculated play on stereotypes that provided an easy justification for delays as the Ildoan government watched how events unfolded. In the case that things began to tip more in the Empire's favor, the Ildoans could quickly sign a treaty and partake in some of the spoils of war. If things began to go the other way, they could pretend all this had never happened. He resigned himself to it and braced for many more weeks of unhurried talks.

In the meantime, he didn't pass up the chance to savor his unexpected free time. He'd been to Ruma once before, but he'd been quite young, so his memory of the occasion was poor. There was only so much work he could do on his own down there, so there was no reason not to slow down the pace. _When in Ruma, _he told himself, idly sipping a glass of wine midday. He could eat a proper meal here, no rationing needed.

It was a lovely city. Some of the ancient artifacts could have used a bit of care, but they were magnificent nonetheless. For many days there were new museums or gardens or old estates to visit. Eventually, those ran out, and he took to wandering the narrow streets, reading in cafés, and watching people pass by from his balcony, which turned out to be equally as enjoyable.

When it came time to return home, Lehrgen found himself hoping he'd find an excuse to be back soon. Even if it did mean another flight.

* * *

_A/N By learning to enjoy the passeggiata and judging people from balconies like every good nonna, Lehrgen experienced the true meaning of being Italian...I promise, there is a plot moving forward._

_Elya isn't in the anime so very quickly: She's Visha's roommate in cadet school who always somehow gets information she isn't supposed to have. Visha describes her as being very full-figured._

_Also, you know that Visha coffee idea from last chapter? I wrote it..._


	6. It's Raining Men, Amen

.

**April 17, 1927  
Occupied Ukrayna, Imperial Ober Ost**

Tanya may not have intended on personally commanding a _Kampfgruppe _in the aftermath of her proposal for their formation, but she'd admit that so far, the unintended consequences of leading one were largely beneficial. A blessing in disguise, instead of the curses disguised as blessings she was used to dealing with.

Her complaints were the same as anyone in middle management - the number of people you had under you was directly correlated with the number of mistakes that could be blamed on you. Unlike with her core battalion, where she'd had some control over what might be termed the onboarding process, the other units in her _Kampfgruppe _had been assigned to her without any of her input.

As someone who prided herself on her ability to find and encourage promising candidates, she took the difficulty of this task in stride. You couldn't call someone an expert in talent management if they only knew how to work with employees who were already high performers.

On the plus side, commanding more men gave her the chance to showcase her leadership abilities more than her combat skills. She'd never earn a coveted posting to the rear if everyone thought her good only for magically obliterating enemy soldiers. On top of that, since she wasn't only leading her battalion, it gave her a better excuse to delegate that task to Major Weiss while she stayed warm and caffeinated coordinating from camp HQ. So far, all of his requests to take Lieutenant Serebryakov along on minor missions had been denied. How could Tanya be expected to think clearly if she couldn't access a good cup of coffee when she needed it?

Another unforeseen boon of traveling with a _Kampfgruppe_ \- specifically, traveling with tanks and infantry - was that it slowed everything down. Just let the General Staff try to throw her from hotspot to hotspot with no rest in between when she had to drag heavy machinery along with her. They might be motorized, but on uneven terrain, tanks would never come close to matching a mage's speed through the air.

This was all to say that while she'd received orders for her _Kampfgruppe _to head south with all haste a few days prior, they'd only just arrived. Now, all haste no longer meant an exhausting long-haul flight from one part of the front to another. And until someone invented a way of getting tanks to fly, Tanya could look forward to more leisurely rearrangements of her geographical position in the future.

If nothing else, it was a relief to be out of the mud that accompanied the spring thaw. In the northeast, everything was still in the process of melting, but in the south, that part of the year had already come and gone. The southeast was also better populated, which meant better supply and communications networks. A piece of fresh meat was so near in her future Tanya could practically taste it.

That evening, after they'd arrived and gotten situated into the new encampment and briefed, Tanya let Lieutenant Grantz take a company under his own command to act as artillery spotters. The guns needed to be calibrated in preparation for beginning the offensive in the morning, and she'd grown comfortable enough with her youngest company commander's aptitude to assign him extra duties like that.

Grantz was really coming into his own as an officer. Despite all the medals she'd earned, Tanya didn't consider any of her famous battles, resulting in her now-infamous list of confirmed kills, her finest accomplishment. Nothing as economically harmful as decimating the working-age population deserved that title. More than anything else, she was proud of her selection and development of a few trustworthy people like Visha, and more recently, Grantz. Most commanders would have given up on him the first time they saw him quaking in his boots, but this was proof that with the right encouragement, people were capable of tremendous growth.

Producing fine officers was one of the most critical tasks for an army. Personnel would be a natural fit for her, not least of all because it was done from a desk deep in an office in the capital. Tanya could only hope that one day, her true talents would be recognized, so she could join the league of men and women responsible for making sure that the Army only expended resources training the best of the best, like the commanding officer for her coming offensive.

He'd left her deeply impressed. He was at least as old as General von Zettour, but age hadn't worn him down a bit. The Imperial Army truly was a wonderful institution, she reflected, thinking back to the man's marching orders.

No matter the cost or difficulty, each local unit was to cover a minimum distance each day. It had been clear in the General's attitude that if the enemy didn't kill them, he would do so himself if his requirements were not met.

_Companies would be much more effective if they could be run this way, _she thought, remembering all the time wasted on annual reviews. The amount of collective energy spent formulating ways to subtly tell underperforming team members they weren't meeting expectations was astounding. It was much better when you could take them to task at the first infraction.

_Honestly, who needs performance improvement plans?_ They were nothing but a cover for useless employees to take advantage of as they leeched more money away from stockholders. Just look at Lieutenant Grantz. If she had had to gently couch her criticisms in circuitous phrasing, would she have ever gotten through to him? No. The butt of a rifle into your solar plexus taught lessons that no lecture on employee responsibilities ever could.

_It would be nice if all executives went through military training_, she found herself thinking. She quickly realized what had just drifted through her head. …_Have I really grown to think this sort of thing is good? Am I really saying that being shoved into a war against my will has been a valuable life experience? _She quickly shook her head to clear it. _This damned thing needs to end before I forget what normal life is supposed to be like._

Sleepiness always muddled the mind. She should get some rest. She didn't often get the chance to turn in early, and the only artillery fire that she could hear was their own. Nothing better than that to provide white noise for dozing off.

Sleep was easy to come by when you were perpetually short of it, so within minutes, Tanya was out. The next thing she knew, she was being awoken to the whistle that sounded promptly at 0600. The second thing she registered was the smell of strong coffee.

She really ought to give Serebryakov a warning. Really. Definitely. She'd do it one day. Sleep was essential for a soldier. Tanya shouldn't overlook that her adjutant was sacrificing a few minutes of valuable time every morning to wake up early and get a pot going. Then again - if she did that, she'd have to wake up without Visha's coffee there to greet her.

It was hot enough to scald, but Tanya ignored her adjutant's warning and greedily gulped down half a cup before she got out of bed. Functioning taste buds were only important when you actually wanted to taste the food you were eating. K-Brot and tough meat went down easier when you couldn't tell what they were.

She fished through her things to find a clean pair of underclothes - her last pair, she belatedly realized. She'd have to make some time to do a little wash tonight. She had to hold her nose - often literally - and put up with a certain lack of hygiene on the battlefield, but there were limits. She'd get down on her knees and pray to Being X before she dressed herself in dirty garments. She'd be giving up her dignity one way or the other.

She headed to the officers' mess first thing for breakfast. She had just under an hour until she had to take flight. Food needed time to digest. Felled by an upset stomach? Her? After everything else she'd survived? She'd never live that down.

Even after two cups of coffee, it took the sounds of the artillery bombardment commencing - specifically, the heavy guns - to shake off her lethargy fully and get her blood pumping. As the infantry began its advance under covering fire, the 203rd took to the air, keeping eyes out for enemy mages targeting their precious guns.

The Federation forces could finally fly without bumbling through the air like stunned bees, so they had to be taken seriously as opponents. Whether this was a result of increased training or of a reduction in rations of vodka was the subject of vigorous mealtime debate. Tanya was betting on the latter herself.

The Federation's biggest advantage was always in numbers. They could afford to have two men or more killed for every Imperial soldier. So, it came as no surprise when she heard the radioed warnings come in shortly past ten in the morning that they could expect enemy mages in force.

"Two battalions from the south," came the alarm from the company furthest down the line. The Imperial Army had in total three battalions, spread into companies along the length of the advance.

At better odds than one for one, the Imperial mages would have no trouble shattering the Federation. Tanya didn't have much faith in communism to promote the most able decision-makers to the top, but an attack this futile managed to be below her expectations.

"Two battalions from the north," came another call several minutes later.

_Damn. _The odds were more evened now. The Federation had an extra battalion, but they had neither the training nor technology to match the Imperial mages. _We can still win, but we won't be able to provide any ground support until we do. Any infantry that runs into Federation artillery might be slowed down too much to keep the line steady, _Tanya ruminated to herself, trying to decide what her best option was.

The Federation was making a classic but effective pincer attack. If the Imperial mages split in two and peeled away from the center, it would leave it open and vulnerable. If they didn't, they risked the Federation overwhelming one or both of the flanks.

"Two companies from the east," she heard Serebryakov announce from her company's position at the center. Looks like the choice had been taken away from them. Leaving the center open wasn't viable.

Even taking into account the Federation's numerical superiority, four and a half battalions still seemed unexpectedly ambitious. They weren't holding anything back. _No…they really aren't holding anything back, _she thought, an idea coming to mind.

They'd probably cleaned out every nearby garrison of mages. If she could get on the other side of the Federation, the skies would be clear. The cities that lay in the path of the advance likely had no air defenses remaining. If someone could take out the artillery surrounding the cities, they'd be ripe for the picking.

The problem was, they were already at a disadvantage as far as numbers were concerned. Ordering any units towards another objective would only worsen their position. _Still, if it could be done quickly enough…_She made up her mind. With a little change in plans she could avoid what might amount to several days wasted trying to take the cities, time during which additional units might be called to aid.

_We don't need to win. We just need to not lose, _she reminded herself. She quickly gave her orders. Let the Federation think their numbers had won. If they took the bait, it would be their undoing.

Tanya didn't like leaving herself in the most dangerous position. But, she was a firm believer in things like labor specialization, and it so happened her battalion was the right one for the task, so she supposed she'd have to do it.

The battalions on the edges of the formation intentionally broke rank in the face of the Federation's charge. They scattered randomly, with the intention of reforming further away. The Federation let themselves be hooked. A few gave chase, but the bulk of the forces pressed in towards Tanya in the center. Two battalions couldn't encircle four, so while the Federation mages kept a look out for a counter offensive, they allowed themselves to be drawn in.

Tanya's own battalion rose to eight thousand feet. Even with the Type 95 in her hand, there was absolutely no way for a single battalion to win against four times their number, but so long as they didn't engage, they should be relatively safe.

Unlike most forces, her battalion could avoid envelopment by moving upwards. The Federation mages weren't capable of meeting them at 8,000. _And even if someone dares, he'll probably be shot by his own officer for showing too much individuality. A good Communist mustn't outshine his peers, _Tanya laughed to herself.

Her battalion led the Federation on a merry chase. The Russy mages weren't terrible, but at a minimum distance of 2,000 feet, it was difficult to hit a fast-moving target capable of using optical decoys as a distraction. Of course, Tanya's own men faced the same limitation trying to fire back.

They picked off enemies here and there, but largely all she wanted to do was hold their attention until the two friendly battalions could return. So long as they didn't have the leisure to begin destroying Imperial artillery, Tanya considered it a job well done.

Unfortunately, due to the discrepancy in numbers, her battalion couldn't entirely prevent the Federation mages from getting off a few well-placed hits on the Empire's ground forces. She could only hope that the small sacrifice would pay off.

After an hour and a half of glorified stalemate, her plan's success was radioed in. With little to no artillery left to protect them, several cities would fall under Imperial control effortlessly. She'd crippled the Federation's ability to defend them any more heavily than they would an open field. An army advancing beyond its supply lines was a dangerous thing. This would give them the ability to push onward quickly while morale was high.

Now that they held the center and were, from a certain standpoint, winning, Tanya estimated the Federation mages would be loathe to give their advantage up. Traditional military thinking placed a high value on occupying the central position, and their enemy was still stuck a generation in the past when it came to maneuvers. They might be inclined to take more casualties before retreating than they otherwise would.

There was no use trying to trap an army twice your size in the open air, so the two returning battalions formed up together and came at the Federation straight on. _Well, I guess it's time to earn my keep too, _Tanya thought, exchanging her beloved Type 97 for the cursed piece of trash she'd need for this skirmish. The numerical odds were still a bit difficult to manage, even accounting for the superior skills of the Imperial mages.

She had faith that the Imperial Army could eventually win the battle in the air, but if they took too long at it, they might lose momentum on the ground as Federation artillery slowed the infantry advance. Even though she'd managed a stunning success while outnumbered, command would look for someone to blame if things didn't go as planned. She couldn't afford to be held liable for the offensive failing.

The familiar haze overtook her mind as she made mincemeat of the men closest to her. The Federation mages dropped like flies under her hailstorm of potent spells. Once the numbers were in the Empire's favor, she withdrew her battalion and pushed them forwards. The other mages could do the job of slowly overtaking the enemy. She was going to go find some artillery of her own to destroy.

She flew on, raining destruction down on enemy positions almost lazily now that there was no one to oppose her. She saw the Federation mages beat a hasty retreat after deciding they'd suffered enough losses, taking a few final shots at them for fun as they went by.

When she came to, the last thing she remembered was ordering her men to engage. Presumably, they'd been successful, because she was now standing in the command post that had been newly established in a captured city, reviewing the updated plans for the continued drive eastward. She gave an internal sigh of relief when she saw Major Weiss at her side.

As the night drew to a close, Tanya had Weiss announce the strategy to the rest of the unit, catching herself up on what she missed. Given today's success, the command had high hopes for pushing the front far back into Federation territory. Tanya went to bed resigned to several more weeks of dropping into bed exhausted and waking up merely tired.

* * *

_A/N Lehrgen has the time of his life in Italy while Tanya hates her life in Ukraine. I'm on vacation this week so you get another chapter._


	7. Right where I went wrong

.

_Quick note: xXx indicates a perspective switch_

**May 9, 1927  
General Staff Office, Imperial Capital Berun**

There were days - more of them than he'd like there to be in the last few years - when the only thing Colonel Erich von Lehrgen could be thankful for in regards to his work was that he had his own office. It was a rare privilege for a man without an exalted title nowadays. Every year the war dragged on and every new enemy that participated in it expanded the ranks of the General Staff. The building may have been extravagantly sized, but it was having trouble accommodating twice or more as many men as were supposed to be there at any one time.

A private office was odd especially for the fact that he was often not in it - between theater inspections and the various quasi-diplomatic missions he was sent on, he was seeing less and less of it. Perhaps that explained why it was small enough to serve as a glorified coat closet. The room's main consolation was a window, which he took to gazing out of whenever he needed to have a good think.

The benefits of having a room to himself were hard to overstate. Peace, quiet, tranquility, a short doze - closing the door was all it took. He could shut the world out, only hearing murmurs of conversations in hallways and boots making their way to and fro. When he needed to - not wanted to, that would be much too often, but needed to - he could relegate the larger war to the background, ignore the frequent updates and constant anxious chatter in favor of focusing solely on his own work.

For that same reason, he tended to arrive earlier than was strictly necessary, even given the extended hours that all were expected to keep during times of war. Most mornings, he was in the office by six. He didn't demand his adjutant drive him at such an obscene hour unless the day was beset by heavy downpours, opting to take the train instead. A uniform meant no time wasted in deciding how to dress, so he didn't have to wake himself terribly far in advance of leaving the house.

Very few of his fellow officers made a regular habit of settling into their chairs before seven, and those that did operated under the unspoken agreement that they were not to disturb each other, so Lehrgen was guaranteed no less than an hour of serenity to read the paper or organize his things before he was required to begin the day in earnest.

Today had been unusually cooperative, with no one, not even his adjutant, encroaching on him prior to the official start of the day at seven-thirty. He'd even managed to eke out another half-hour of silence after that.

Unfortunately, that meant the very first voice he heard in his immediate vicinity was not what he'd call a welcome one.

"Colonel von Lehrgen," he heard from his door, accompanied by knuckles rapping against wood, the three knocks so evenly spaced they could have been made by a machine, indicating an abrupt end to his peaceful morning. He glanced at his clock. Eight exactly, almost to the second, right at the scheduled time. Reluctantly, his eyes snapped up to meet icy blue ones.

"Lieutenant Colonel von Degurechaff," he greeted her in turn.

Today was her first day back in the capital after successfully spearheading the offensive in the east, recalled for a brief rest and to make an updated report on how her _Kampfgruppe _operated when it was part of a larger entity.

She stepped in as soon as he acknowledged her, waiting for him to wave a hand at the chair across from him before taking it.

"Congratulations on your recent successes," he continued, once she was comfortably seated.

If Degurechaff had to exist in the world alongside him, at least she fought under the same banner as he did. He wouldn't want her thinking his opinion of her meant that he didn't appreciate that she was on the Empire's side. Even if she was too enthusiastic about a number of things.

The Federation line had been pushed back over a hundred kilometers since he last saw her, and every day the Imperial troops gained more ground. Much of the momentum was due to her decision to deviate from the initial plan and smash the supply networks on the opening day of the offensive, acting before the Federation got a chance to dig in and regroup.

To soldiers on the front line, that looked like nothing but success. To someone who was briefed every day on logistics, it was yet another case of success tiring the Empire out as they sprinted the distance of a marathon. The eastern rail networks weren't built like the Empire's own, and neither the men nor money to improve them was readily available.

"Thank you, sir. Should I offer you congratulations in return?"

She was likely fishing for information on his own project. It was still moving along. After the Empire's recent show of superiority, the Ildoans were ready for a commitment, but there was still many a term left to be agreed upon. How many troops the Empire would withdraw from the Southern Continent and how any territory gains would be split were major points of contention.

"That would be premature," he replied.

Not wanting to let her push him for more on this topic, he moved on to the official purpose of their meeting. Every group in the Army wanted Degurechaff and her unit to come assist them wherever they were fighting. In the absence of any obvious choice, out of respect for her ability to read the direction the war was going he'd called her in to let her have her pick.

He handed over the stack of papers to her, then gave her a few minutes to read them.

"Any preference on your next assignment? You aren't going to ask for rear-line duty again, I trust?" he asked, as soon as she looked back up at him.

The debacle after her request from a year ago was something he hoped to never see repeated. Being stuck in between her and Zettour as the older man loosed his anger, enraged at her obstinate refusal to provide a satisfactory answer as to what she meant by it, had made him want to crawl under his desk and hide until it all blew over.

She cracked a world-weary smile that didn't fit on a face as young as hers.

"We both saw how asking for that went last time," she muttered, her expression drawing into a frown, "and if you pass along a request like that again, it might put you in the line of fire with me. I'm not so short-sighted as to let a dependable ally fall out of good graces on my behalf."

...Ally? Did she say _ally? _In what world were they _allies? _Aside from wearing the same uniform, few things could be further from the truth.

"I'll do what I can to honor your wishes," he said, a noncommittal response if there ever was one.

She gave a genuine smile at that. "I don't doubt it, sir."

The slight satisfaction she betrayed on her face along with the expression of trust gave him pause. It was like she really did think they were friends. If he didn't figure this out, it would eat away at him for the rest of the week.

"I don't believe I've been all too successful in altering the course of your career," he said truthfully, hoping she might volunteer what she thought he'd been doing.

"Well, I can appreciate someone who has the conviction to stand up for what they think is right," she replied, dipping her head slightly. "I understand you've gotten some grief over trying to keep me out of the worst of it because I'm a young girl. Though I hope I haven't given you reason to doubt my abilities because of it."

"You are an exceptionally talented soldier," he reassured her, before he let himself turn over the meaning of what she'd just said in his mind.

Somehow, by some providential stroke of luck, no one had ever told her. She honestly thought he was trying to help her. And she felt no ill will towards his attempts to hamper her career, had attributed some sort of moral reasoning to him that allowed her to see his actions as something harmlessly paternalistic. If he hadn't already been sitting, he might have collapsed in relief over hearing that she had no reason to personally antagonize him.

_I can use this, _he thought, quickly formulating an appropriate response. Finally, he had something that gave him an upper hand against her. A part of him protested that he should tell her the truth. Or at least some version of it. These things always had a way of catching up with you if you didn't. It would only get harder to back himself out as time went on and he got deeper into the fiction. But what then? Utter destruction of whatever working relationship they did have? Mutual distrust and enmity?

Now was not a time that the Army could afford to suffer personal grudges between officers. If it was for the sake of winning the war, wasn't playing along with this deception, no matter that it left a bitter taste in his mouth, no matter that it made him feel like he was no better than she was, manipulating anyone who'd let their guard down, the better choice?

He kept in the sigh that wanted to escape. He'd heard a handy phrase for situations like this when he'd been stationed in the Commonwealth: In for a penny, in for a pound.

If she really trusted him, she might be willing to let the professional mask come off as well. He might finally get the evidence he needed to persuade his superiors of how very dangerous she was. People had a tendency of making mistakes while they were at ease. If he encouraged her delusion, there was a chance he'd witness a moment of weakness.

He doubted he'd get the truth about her ultimate motives by asking directly. She'd gone to great lengths to disguise her awful nature under a veneer of patriotism and pragmatism. Aside from personal curiosity over what drove her, it would be useful if he could determine whether there was a specific catalyst for her insanity. That information might help them prevent another anomaly like her from being created ever again.

As a side benefit, he might also figure out which branch of psychiatric specialist they'd need to entrust her to after the war. He pitied the doctor that ended up with her case.

"Colonel von Degurechaff," he said, trying his best to keep his tone and expression pleasant, "As soldiers, it's only natural to feel in conflict with our orders at times. I do hope you feel that you can be candid with me about which assignment you'd like. It's results that matter and I've yet to meet another soldier so capable of producing them. I'd hardly let your talents go to waste."

For most, orders were what pushed a soldier to move forward in the face of danger. For her, they were a restraint preventing her from fighting until she'd exhausted her men in an effort to spill as much enemy blood as possible. If he needed to act sympathetic to her struggle to control that demented personality trait, so be it. Talking in half-truths didn't sit well with him. It really didn't. But he knew if their places were swapped, she wouldn't hesitate to press her advantage.

Degurechaff considered him carefully for a few moments. And then, to his eternal surprise, she took a deep breath, and relaxed.

xXx

_Shit. Dammit. I messed up_. Tanya kicked herself mentally for letting any image beyond professional soldier slip through. Even though she was safely in the rear at the moment, that was no excuse to indulge herself.

For a minute, she'd been worried Colonel von Lehrgen might be on the verge of giving up on his efforts to help her because they weren't getting anywhere. She was usually appalled by fruitless labor, but even something with a miniscule chance of getting her off the front had to be encouraged. Showing appreciation and subtly highlighting her outward youth had been calculated to send a renewed pang of guilt, but that was all he'd needed to get a glimpse beyond her shows of bravery.

Conflicts with orders? Being candid? If her will to fight got questioned, she could wave goodbye to any preferential treatment. A worker shirking her duties was a guaranteed way of getting fired. The Army wasn't in a position to waste a single soldier by letting them off with something as light as a dishonorable discharge. They'd stick her somewhere it would be impossible for even the worst coward to run away. It was a good thing the fighting was already over in the Lowlands, or her next stop might be Passchendaele.

_Or, maybe not, _Tanya reflected, catching sight of her superior's encouraging expression. A full smile wasn't on his face very often, so it wasn't meaningless. From her previous work, she had plenty of experience reassigning employees to undesirable roles, and it wasn't the sort of job that made anyone smile. Even if they deserved it, handing out bad news was a pain.

Plus, taking into account that Lehrgen was against the idea of sending children off to die for their country, it would be strange if he was happy about the prospect of reporting her to people who lacked the proper amount of shame about doing so. She didn't particularly like being pitied, but if it kept her alive, she was all for it. From the way it sounded, he was just trying to be sympathetic and letting her pick from the best of the worst.

She'd been on the verge of jumping up and denying any accusations of cowardice, but instead, she let some of the stiffness ease out of her shoulders. Staying calm was key. This might be her one and only chance to make an honest request. They were soldiers, and Tanya respected that Lehrgen had his own job to do, so it wasn't like she could come out and say something like _Please make sure I never have to hold a gun again in my life. _He might be willing to forgive a little natural fear, but a part that didn't do what it was designed for had no destiny except the trash heap. He was telling her he was alright if she picked an assignment that wasn't a suicide mission, not asking if she wanted to quit the Army altogether.

The last thing she'd want would be to ruin her relationship with someone who she had an unexpected amount of common ground with. It was unbearably annoying that as a soldier, she was normally rated on qualities like patriotism and fighting spirit. Here was an idea – assess people on quantitative measures instead. From what Lehrgen said about results and not wasting talent, they were on the same page. That was the best kind of news.

Tanya shouldn't have been surprised. Lehrgen had come up through Personnel, after all. He implicitly realized that her organizational value didn't lie in how she felt about her duties. What mattered was that she produced the best outcomes. Anyone could work successfully under a framework like that. Clear expectations were the foundation of mutual satisfaction. As long as she proved her worth, he could turn a blind eye to some lack of enthusiasm.

_If only I'd been allowed to bring along some of my books on how market principles could be used in the realm of human relationships, _she lamented, thinking back to the apartment lined with shelves she'd once had. It would have been delightful to have someone to discuss them with again. A person as astute as her boss would definitely enjoy them. It was a shame, but her complete collection of Gary Becker's works had probably ended up going out with the burnable garbage instead.

Ahh well. She wasn't about to ask any favors from Being X like sending her unpublished books. But maybe, she could ask for one tiny favor from her superior officer – to listen to an idea for her next assignment without immediately issuing a formal reprimand for trying to avoid danger.

xXx

Lehrgen would confess to being slightly at a loss. Until a minute ago, he'd never seen Degurechaff at anything less than full attention. Even if she was sitting, her back was so straight it was like she had an iron rod in place of a spine. But moments before, she'd shifted into a more casual position, leaning back against her chair like a great weight had come off her shoulders.

_Does she really need someone to confess all her sinister desires to that badly? _Lehrgen wondered with worry. After this was all over, he might need psychiatric help himself. There was no way that listening to her unfiltered opinions wouldn't eventually drive him at least slightly mad.

"So," he said, clearing his throat to continue the conversation, "what sort of role would you prefer to have?"

"I'd take your job if I could," Degurechaff replied, with a little laugh.

Was she…threatening him? Maybe she had no reason to specifically hate him, but he doubted that would stop her if she felt he was in her way. If she wanted more power to direct the war to grow until it consumed the few countries of Europa still untouched by it, taking his position, directly under General von Rudersdorf, would give it to her.

"Training," she amended, after a short pause.

"Training? You want me to recommend the most effective group of soldiers in this entire army as an instructing unit?" Lehrgen asked in disbelief.

She was definitely trying to get him removed from the General Staff, if not dishonorably discharged from the Army itself.

She stiffened up again and he remembered that he had to play at accommodating her. "If you can come up with a reason that sounds plausible, I'm willing to consider it," he relented.

"The problem is precisely that my unit is so effective," she said steadily, looking him in the eye.

_Actually, that's true, _Lehrgen thought, wanting to frown. Taking her off the front might slow the pace of any advances back down into a more sustainable rate.

"Go on," he encouraged.

"It's unsustainable to have to rely on a single battalion. If we want to effectively make use of my _Kampfgruppe _idea, we'll need other commanders and other units capable of forming them."

He had to concede she had a point there. "You'd like to train other aerial mage units to do the same," he concluded.

"I'd like to recommend that Captain Weiss be in charge of leading the 203rd while training the other mages. He has proven to be capable of command," she replied.

After meeting Weiss, Lehrgen could agree that the man had talent, but if Weiss was leading the training, that left the officer in front of him with nothing to do.

"And if that is assigned to him, what will you be doing?" he asked.

"You can't always expect mages to form the core of the _Kampfgruppen_, there aren't enough of us. I will oversee the instruction of any non-mage units who are thought to be likely prospects," she responded promptly.

_Odd, _Lehrgen thought, pondering over it. _That will take her far away from the front lines._ Mages were in scarce supply so were often close to action even when at rest, but other troops were rotated away from the front as often as possible to avoid fatigue.

"Your proposal has merits," he told her, "though I'm still not sure now is the time for this."

"Sir, if I may, if not now, then when? What use is there until waiting until the war is over? Events are going in our favor for now, should we not take advantage of the lull?"

She was right, she was right, of course she was right, it seemed like she was always right.

"I will support your proposal, then. Though I can't promise you won't be pulled from training immediately if the situation changes," he warned.

"Understood, sir. I think I have demonstrated that my unit is capable of being called up at a moment's notice," she said, a touch of pride leaking into her voice.

"You should receive your orders within the week. Dismissed."

She stood, and with a precise salute she turned on her heel and strode out.

He was left to wonder over why she would willingly put herself in a position so far from any action. _Maybe she's growing up_, he mused. Maybe what had seemed like a game to a child was no longer so entertaining now that she understood what she was involved in. But had she ever given any indication she wasn't completely cognizant of the reality? She'd never been childish in the first place.

_No, _he thought, shaking his head. More likely, her patriotic bent was getting ahead of any other thoughts. An Imperial victory over the Federation, and from there who knew how far she'd like them to conquer onwards.

He lit a cigarette and tried to drop his train of thought. Everyone else seemed to accept that she was abnormal and move on without giving it further consideration. He should try to do the same.

* * *

_A/N Hooray, real plot finally starts! I tried to get through writing the setup chapters as quickly as I could to make it less painful. Thank you for bearing with me :) I wish I could promise to continue updating as frequently but unfortunately I did not win the last Powerball drawing so I have to like...work._


	8. Operation Desert Storm

.

**July 11, 1927  
General Staff Office, Imperial Capital Berun**

If there was one thing that every officer above the rank of major on the General Staff could agree on, it was that unexpected phone calls never brought good news. Never.

It might seem like a statistical impossibility in a nation that had successfully waged war for over four years, a country which now occupied so much enemy territory it had practically doubled in size. But somehow, good news was always shouted down the hall or brought by an adjutant. Bad news, on the other hand, would wait until you picked up the phone to let you know what it was.

So, when his own adjutant came to inform him that Lieutenant General von Romel was on the line, Colonel von Lehrgen already knew it wasn't to share good tidings. In fact, the conversation was liable to be downright unpleasant. Romel was known for many things, but an easygoing nature was not one of them. He was a man with little patience and less tact. Lehrgen got along fine with him so far as they knew each other, but that didn't mean Romel wouldn't give him an earful.

Degurechaff had been sent down to join the lieutenant general on the Southern Continent some two weeks prior. Negotiations were finally closing with the Ildoans, but before they signed off on anything, they wanted a first-hand look at the situation. Lehrgen had tasked Degurechaff with showing it to them. It was imperative to convince Ildoa of their proposed ally's strength, and he could think of no unit that exuded an air of invincibility the way that hers did.

Granted, it was all for show. There were no battles planned, simply some audacious training maneuvers that would give the Ildoans something to be amazed by. Romel was probably calling to complain about how useless his favorite feral pet was now that she had to play nice for diplomacy's sake.

As soon as Lehrgen picked up the receiver, Romel's uncharacteristically festive mood engendered an ominous feeling in his gut. The summer months in the desert tended to see the least amount of action, and thus very little cause for celebration. With a low chance of anything besides a minor skirmish, there had seemed no safer time to send an observation party.

"Congratulations, Colonel," came through the line.

Lehrgen began to dread the rest of the conversation. Something must have gone much differently than planned if he was getting unsolicited praise from one of the army's toughest commanders.

"You've figured out how to use Degurechaff to her full potential," Romel continued. "Letting her choose how to fight her own battles is the right way of doing it. Restricting her with too many orders never ends well."

Something was definitely wrong. Seriously wrong, in fact. Nothing about his orders to guide a few friendly spectators around to help them understand the current positions suggested that Degurechaff should do anything close to her full potential. No one wanted a reckless ally.

Lehrgen pinched the bridge of his nose as Romel continued talking. The Republic had been trapped and forced to evacuate over the water as far back as Sfaqes. There was little military value in the territory south of the city, but it would give the Empire breathing room now that they possessed more than a foothold above the Sahara.

No one could argue it wasn't a major victory. But being brought along on a mission of any range during the middle of the day in the dead heat of summer, skirting the edge of a passing sandstorm as cover, was the exact opposite of how he'd intended the Ildoans to be treated.

As usual, the casualties were surprisingly low given what Degurechaff had accomplished, but any casualties at all among the Ildoan observers was a problem. They were hesitant enough as it stood. Had he not been specific enough when he'd told her to treat them gently?

_No, it's my own fault, _Lehrgen groaned to himself, recalling the exact words he'd used. To anyone else, "treat them like they're our own" would have conveyed the appropriate message - be careful with them - but to her, treating troops like her own meant casual and repeated near-death encounters on raids that sounded impossible to anyone that didn't know her.

At least he hadn't said to treat them like family. Given that she was an orphan, she'd probably have interpreted it as a coded message that he wanted the Ildoans dead.

He couldn't even bring himself to be angry with her over it. He should have known better. Trying to reprimand her over it would only result in her being confused. In her mind, she surely thought she'd followed her orders to the letter.

He'd told her to impress them. Whether they were impressed by her formidable ability to outmaneuver enemies or impressed by how little she cared about the sanctity of human life remained to be seen.

Lehrgen sighed and picked up his phone again. Hopefully, Mrs. Schneider would be free to accompany Mr. Schneider on a summer holiday back to Ildoa so that Mr. Schneider could beg his guests' forgiveness for letting the family dog bite them.

Intelligence gave Elya the go-ahead, and they were on a train the next morning. This time, instead of asking after his secrets, the woman who accompanied him shared no few that didn't rightly belong to her. She wasn't shy about disclosing her own either. Apparently, his companion was allergic to silence. To fill the time, most of the ride was filled with an almost unceasing recounting of her personal life. By the end, Lehrgen thought he might know more about her than he did about himself.

Once they'd covered that topic sufficiently, Elya had drawn a few notebooks out of the designer bag that, according to her personal history, she'd bought as a souvenir in Parisee. The journals weren't old, but were already well-worn, the pages crinkled so that they no longer lay flat. In small, crowded writing she'd recorded an extensive array of information on the private lives of anyone remotely notable in Ruma. More than that, she gave a recounting of deeds no one wanted publicly known about themselves.

Antonio Messe, tax evasion. Not terribly uncommon, except in the amount of revenue he'd managed to hide from the government. Vittorio Graziani, bribery of judges. Also a somewhat common practice in Ruma's political scene. Neither of those was likely to elicit much of a response.

Then, she got to the salacious stuff. Vittorio Graziani, drug trafficking. Luigi Dallolio, _human _trafficking. Pietro Boselli, several affairs with the wives of other politicians. Silvio Berluscone, the _daughters _of other politicians.

Briefly, Lehrgen wondered what damning information Elya had on notable names from Preussland, but ultimately, he decided it was best not to ask. There were no pleasant surprises found in her notes. If it turned out that his brother was in fact his half-brother, as the pages in front of him suggested was more common than you'd think, he'd lived almost thirty-four years not knowing that, and he was prepared to live another thirty-four not knowing it either.

On the other hand, if a certain Ildoan politician by the name of Alfredo D'Annunzio, who Lehrgen knew would jump at any excuse to derail the alliance, didn't want his fondness for the young men working as his aides to be the subject of tomorrow's morning edition, it would be best if he kept his mouth shut and voted in favor of the agreement.

He'd let Elya determine how to discreetly make that known. Lehrgen's only official point of contact was Signor Boroni, whose company he'd grown to enjoy. He wouldn't want to ruin their camaraderie by making the man pass along threats.

His initial impression was that Ildoa needed no reassurance. Elya reported back that there were already signs they were mobilizing. They must have decided that when it came to Degurechaff's brutal efficiency, "efficient" was the part to concentrate on.

A few days into his stay, Boroni owned up to the real reason.

"I should not tell you this, my friend," Boroni sighed, lighting a cigar. "But you don't complain when I talk too much about my mother-in-law. Everyone else tells me theirs is worse. You don't have one. And besides, I know that girl of yours knows things about me."

Lehrgen put his fork down. It wasn't a mealtime, but he hadn't been able to help himself when a plate of fresh fruit had been brought in mid-morning.

"They didn't tell me in advance," he continued, gaze souring. "It's easier to make friends when you don't think you're lying to them."

Lehrgen pulled out a cigarette from his pocket to preempt whatever bad news he was about to hear.

"With how quickly you're advancing down south, all the politicians think you have your eyes on the prize."

"We'd much rather leave Turus for you to take," Lehrgen placated, though he wasn't entirely sure that was true. It was better than letting the Ildoans think there'd be nothing left for them to claim after they joined the war, the crown jewel they coveted in the hands of another power.

"But if you're focused there, it makes one wonder if you've taken your eyes off somewhere you consider safe," Boroni finished, eyeing the map on the table.

Lehrgen didn't need to look to know what he meant by that, to know that he wouldn't be able to finish another bite of fruit. Unredeemed Ildoa had always been a minor point of contention between their countries, but Ildoa had no hope of winning it from the Empire in a one-on-one war. Now, though, with more powerful enemies providing cover for them, it could be their chance.

"And if we promised a fair plebiscite after the war?"

Boroni opened his hands expansively. "Of course, we would take that into consideration."

"Then you'll excuse me for the day," Lehrgen replied, pushing his chair back to rise.

First, he found Elya, to have her gather as much information as she could about the specifics of their military strength, and to figure out who the main instigators of this turnaround in events was. If a few key players could be pressured into changing their minds, that might be all that was necessary. As soon as he was done with that, he sent an encoded message home, asking for permission to make such a promise.

Lehrgen knew it wasn't Degurechaff's fault, exactly, that the government left him waiting weeks for a response. Politicians didn't tend to make decisions quickly, so it was only natural that he was stuck down there while they debated.

Spring in Ruma had been a pleasant affair of breezy days and cool nights. Rain had been occasional, but there was no more of it than there was at home. The end of summer was oppressive in its heat, the days filled with a beating, unrelenting sun. The nights offered little relief. The humidity turned the air into a heavy blanket of suffocating stillness.

An evening stroll under the trees lining the river could only be undertaken if the walker was unbothered by the odor of rotting vegetation and old fish. The scent of rancid garbage emanated from even the smallest alleyway. Temporary respite could only be found in restaurants and cafés, where the smell of exquisite food and coffee overpowered all else.

The residents of Ruma took their dinners after the sun had left the sky and the heat of the day had somewhat abated. It was a sensible adaptation to the climate, but it meant that an open window at night was an invitation for the noise of the ebullient city to invade. Even children could be heard playing in the streets past midnight.

Lehrgen knew he couldn't blame Degurechaff for it. But after somewhere around his eleventh night in a row tossing in bed and swearing never to spend summer south of the Alps again, it became hard not to.

When he got the letter ordering him home, he would have given anything to stay. Home could only mean one thing. There was no future of negotiations with Ildoa.

"Do the politicians not consider it a real threat?" Lehrgen asked General von Rudersdorf, pacing in front of the other man's desk instead of taking the chair that was offered. "Lieutenant Weber's intelligence confirms what I was told by my contact. She managed to scare enough of them back into neutrality, but if things get worse for us..."

"Our Slovanian territory is protected by mountains," Rudersdorf sighed. "The consensus is that we can hold off the Ildoans with the small garrison we have stationed there. Beat the Federation and we could turn around on them before they've done any serious damage."

"And then what, Ugoslavija decides it's time to take Kroatia because we can't be bothered to defend our own territory properly anymore?" he snapped.

"You don't have to tell me," Rudersdorf placated.

"Apologies, sir," Lehrgen replied, swallowing his anger.

His superior gave another sigh. "Problem is, each time we've mentioned we're getting too thin, we always manage to pull out another win. I'm not sure the _Reichstag _believes us anymore when we claim we can't do it."

It was a fight not to slam the door on the way out as Lehrgen went back to his office to pray that the assault being planned on Stalyngrad would cripple the Federation's strength enough to keep peace in the south.

**August 15, 1927  
General Staff Office, Imperial Capital Berun**

The next time he saw Degurechaff was in his office, with a sunny smile on her face.

"Were our friends impressed?" she asked, the first thing out of her mouth after their perfunctory greetings.

Lehrgen thought about delivering the lecture he'd dreamt up after suffering through countless nights of troubled sleep. He'd told her off a thousand times already in his head. _That will have to be good enough, _he told himself. If he spoiled her good attitude towards him, he was positive she'd find a way of making him suffer for it. From the reports about her month training the 203rd, she derived an unseemly amount of glee out of torment.

"Not exactly the way I intended. But the Kaiser was," Lehrgen sighed, picking up the envelope containing information on her next assignment.

She was back in the capital because she'd turned out to be a surprisingly effective teacher. Her battalion remained in the south with Romel, but she'd been recalled to take up her training post as well as serve a stint as guest instructor at the War College. The General Staff was eager for her to produce as many officers as she could who were capable of following her model of rapid, independent action.

Her students, most of whom were at least twice her age, all lived in mortal fear of her, but so far, there were no attempted murders.

Degurechaff had stepped closer, and she glanced down as she took the envelope from him. Her face morphed into disappointment at catching sight of the article he was reading in his copy of _The Times. _A grainy photo of her in Arene, an extracted record from a Republican soldier's computation orb, graced the page.

"They can hardly fault a soldier for following orders," she muttered sullenly.

In most cases, Lehrgen would entirely agree. Directly disobeying objectionable orders was classed under the heading of things easier said than done. But she hadn't raised a single complaint. The corps commander that had delivered the orders to her had come to confide in Lehrgen later over how badly her calm attitude towards the ordeal had shaken him. She'd apparently even smiled when he'd given her the news.

"Let's hope it doesn't happen again," he replied, as a means of avoiding explicitly agreeing with her.

"You don't think there will be any trouble over it after the war, do you, sir?"

"Not if we win," he said, "and if we don't, the _Reichsgericht_ ruled in favor of the War College's interpretation of that particular law."

"That's no guarantee an international tribunal would rule the same," she replied.

"It's not," he agreed. "Especially if it comes to light you presented the original argument. But I've read the brief myself. It's quite…convincing."

The legal case was so convincing, in fact, that Lehrgen had needed to remind himself numerous times that it was Degurechaff herself who'd made those tragic orders possible.

"I simply presented an academic argument, sir."

As someone who enjoyed theoretical debate himself, he was loathe to criticize the practice. But she'd presented her thesis to a War College instructor while her country was at war. Only an idiot would hand a loaded gun to someone already involved in a fistfight and not realize they might use it. And whatever else she was, Degurechaff was not an idiot.

"May I ask where you found a copy of the brief so that I might see it for myself?" she continued.

Lehrgen shook his head. "I knew someone who worked on the case," he said, by way of explanation.

His acquaintance had been so impressed by Degurechaff's paper that Lehrgen was half-afraid the man was going to launch a public movement to allow women to practice law over it. Not that he minded in theory, but under no circumstances did he want the girl in front of him licensed. She might decide one day it would be fun to see just how many laws she could render meaningless via loopholes.

Degurechaff's head perked up momentarily, but she gave a nod, a salute, and then left without further comment.

xXx

Walking into work with a smile on a Monday morning wasn't something most employees could do without forcing it. For Tanya von Degurechaff, the event was rarer still. Perhaps if she regularly got weekends off, she'd be able to face the start of the work week with a grin more often. But a day like today deserved her very best.

First and foremost, her dependable superior officer had made good on his promise to respect her wishes when it came to her assignments. Her only enemy for the next few weeks would be overambitious students keeping her after class and cutting into her vacation time.

The second piece of good news was that her prospects for after the war were looking up. She'd considered a legal career for future employment, so if one of her closest associates was acquainted with a high-up judge, that could be counted as a foot already in the door. So long as the antiquated laws on who could and couldn't practice law were revised in the aftermath of the war, she'd have a degree that promised a cushy job in no less than ten years' time.

She shouldn't have overlooked the possibility that Lehrgen might have some useful connections outside the Army. He had been the one to help install the new Empire-friendly government in Lietuva. You couldn't do something like that without moving in the right circles.

And for once, fate was smiling kindly down on her. Networking for another job while in the office was a bit crass, but there was no rule saying you couldn't have an informal chat over lunch. Two days later, she ran into Lehrgen at her favorite café.

Naturally, he accepted the offer for a seat at her table instead of standing in line. She eased into the conversation and let him pick the subject to begin with. The key to networking, at least to start off, was not to let the other party know you were networking. The minute they sensed you were being friendly for ulterior motives, it was a huge turn-off. When they became comfortable that your presence was genuine companionship, that was the moment to strike.

Partway through the meal, an opportunity finally presented itself. Nothing too strong from her part, of course. Just an innocent show of curiosity.

"About the law, it's a fascinating subject to study, don't you think?" she began.

Lehrgen seemed a bit startled at the turn the conversation took, but a comment like that wasn't enough to arouse suspicion.

"I guess that's true," he replied. "Is there anything in particular you're interested in?"

"I started off with a focus on regulations," she answered, with some honesty. Getting too political could be dangerous, but the General Staff had even more severe views than her own on that subject. Her service record was a testament to their commitment to not giving their employees paid holidays. Their take on child labor laws didn't even need to be touched on. "Truthfully, I think there's a lot of restrictions that I could live without."

Lehrgen made a face at his food. Even officers like the two of them were eating poorly these days, so the taste was never very good. "Is that so?" he asked.

"It's something I'd love to talk to an expert on. There's only so much you can learn from reading."

"...that's true. I'm not sure I could be of much help. Besides military law, I'm not very familiar with the subject."

"In that case, I wouldn't mind debating you on it one day, sir," she offered, an easy transition into what she really wanted to say. "Though come to think of it, didn't you know someone in the field?"

"His specialty is international law."

Even better. Getting in touch with a person like that would be more than a mere career move. They didn't have too long until nuclear fission would be discovered, and by then, it might be too late to prevent an arms race. Someone had to be the one to propose a ban on turning the technology into a weapon. A top-class judge in international law wouldn't be the worst person to have the ear of.

"Oh, that's much more exciting," Tanya replied, giving her best smile to her lunchmate. "It's the most complex of all. There's no international body capable of enforcement, so it all comes down to persuading other countries to see things your way."

Lehrgen bumped his chest twice with his fist like the dried out meat had stuck in his throat.

"Ah, well, with the war going on, I'm afraid he must be very busy."

It was a bit disappointing, but it wasn't a firm no. As soon as the geopolitical scene quieted down some, she could bring it up again.

To her surprise, Lehrgen pushed his half-full plate of food away.

"Is everything alright, sir?"

The menu had gone downhill in the past year, but she didn't think they'd gotten so desperate as to serve anything spoiled. Just in case she needed to stop eating her own meal partway through, she should check if there was a reason.

"There's some days I find it hard to eat much," he replied with a grimace.

Now that was something Tanya could sympathize with. On the front, she had a reason to stuff herself as full as she could - she'd need those calories to replenish her mana. But with the quality of meals suffering due to the blockades, it didn't inspire an office worker to eat more than necessary.

"To tell you the truth, sir, I can't work up a full appetite unless I'm heading to battle either."

_Ahh, that might have been a little heavy, _Tanya sighed, seeing the pained look on his face. She'd have to read the atmosphere better next time.

* * *

_A/N: Tanya thought that she'd entered Safe Mode when she was brought back as an instructor, but after a chance conversation finds out she's actually in Safe Mode with Networking._

_Also Tanya & Romel is best relationship. "She's a perfect subordinate". "He's a perfect superior". Get a room you two. Why is so little time in the LNs spent on them being arrogant bffs? I feel cheated._

_In case anyone's curious, I updated the description to reflect that I'm continuing the story and made a few minor corrections._


	9. Everyone report to the dance floor

.

**September 20, 1927  
General Staff Office, Imperial Capital Berun**

_Tomorrow, _Lehrgen repeated to himself, looking across his desk at the calendar. _She'll be gone tomorrow._

Degurechaff was due for departure back to the Southern Continent. His meals would finally be peaceable again. After that first disaster, she'd managed to interrupt his lunch no fewer than four more times. And to rub salt in the wound, he'd been forced to pay for her on top of it. Every time a waiter caught sight of her pulling out her wallet, he would stare at Lehrgen like he was the lowest form of life on the planet.

If Degurechaff was a typical fourteen-year-old girl who wanted to talk about dresses or something, he might not have minded paying for her. He'd never taken much of a liking to fashion, but by their third meal together, he'd briefly closed his eyes and prayed for that to be her topic of choice. At least then he'd just have been bored and not disturbed.

On that subject, he had one more order of business to take care of before she left. He caught up with her in the hall as she returned from a meeting, hoping it would be the last he'd see of her for a few weeks.

"Your request to give your unit a week's reprieve before the next offensive was approved," he told her, starting off with business.

Aside, possibly, from Degurechaff, all the other members of the 203rd were human. A common soldier might be able to perform passably well when exhausted, but magic calculations required mental acuity. Their commander might have managed to teach them how to work under poor conditions, but even then it had only been a month spent operating above capacity. The 203rd was going on half a year.

"And," Lehrgen continued, pulling an embossed envelope from his papers, "you've managed to earn an invite to the ball the royal family funds for the Kaiserin's birthday."

"It seems a bit out of touch in the middle of a war," she said, taking the invitation from his hand.

"It's not nearly as extravagant as it used to be. And there is value in putting on a show of normalcy," he countered.

"I suppose you're right," she said, but shook her head anyway. "I won't be missed at an event of that size."

"You can't turn this down, Lieutenant Colonel."

"I'll be busy with work."

"You'll be on holiday."

"It will be the next to last night, so I'll have to look at the plans for when we're back to the Southern Continent to see if updates need to be made."

_Is working the only thing she knows how to do? _Lehrgen wondered with exasperation. She was acting like taking a night off from plotting out new ways of killing people was the end of the world.

Realistically, he'd be perfectly fine with her not attending. The thought of her speaking directly to politicians was stomach-turning. But whoever had put her name on the list would not forget the slight. This was not an invite typically extended to an officer of her rank who hadn't been born into the right family. It would end up reflecting poorly back on him if she failed to make an appearance.

"For your own future, it's best if you go," he emphasized.

"Alright, sir. I'll be there," she said, with a heavy sigh.

"May I ask why work sounds so much more appealing?"

"I haven't had the time to acquire the skill set for such events," she said, breaking eye contact and looking down. "I hope no one expects me to dance."

_Now there's a funny thought. _It was hard not to laugh, though when his amusement faded, it was replaced by a twinge of guilt. From the way she was staring at the floor and fidgeting, he suspected she was telling him the truth. She'd be out of her element and was nervous about making a fool out of herself. A perfectly normal reason.

"You get to bring someone along with you, so you won't be alone," he reassured her.

She considered for a moment. "I think Lieutenant Serebryakov would enjoy the chance to attend," she mused.

"Major Weiss might be a more orthodox choice," Lehrgen countered. It could be overlooked due to her age, but bringing along another woman would turn a few heads. "I can take Serebryakov if you'd like."

Her eyes narrowed in obvious distrust. The one time he was trying to help her, and she thought his motives suspect. He had a free ticket himself, and had simply figured it would be easier on everyone if Degurechaff had someone there to guide her.

"I'll hand her off to you as soon as we're there," he soothed.

"Thank you, sir," she intoned politely. "I would appreciate it."

"Consider it done. Though if you don't mind, please pass the invite along to her on my behalf."

"Sir, will I need to wear all my decorations on my dress uniform?" she asked. "They can be a bit...much."

If she didn't even know that one wore a dress, and not a dress uniform, to a ball, she'd be even more out of depth than he thought.

"Lieutenant Colonel von Degurechaff."

"Yes, sir?"

"You do realize this isn't a military event?"

"Yes, sir," she replied evenly.

"Your dress uniform is not appropriate attire."

"I don't own any dresses," she said flatly.

"Do you wear nothing but your uniform?"

"No, sir."

He sighed. He should have expected that answer. But really, what sort of girl was she?

"Then you'll have to buy one. And this should go without saying, but you can't wear your boots underneath it."

**October 22, 1927  
Hotel Esplanade, Imperial Capital Berun**

_Payback. This is definitely payback, _Tanya groaned, wincing slightly as another pin slid through her hair, scraping along her scalp.

"Just a few more, Lieutenant Colonel," her torturer told her. "Then it's on to makeup."

The situation was dire enough without her adjutant finding a way to get back at her for putting her through the 203rd's special training. Normally, Tanya wouldn't have passed up the chance to build connections, but if there was one thing worse than leaving no impression, it was leaving a bad one.

For that reason, she'd enlisted Visha's help when it came to the details of her appearance. Her friend had taken some liberties with Tanya's request to look polished and presentable. One of the other woman's good points was her willingness to go above and beyond the call of duty, but at this point, she was just having fun at Tanya's expense. She was smiling too much for someone who wasn't enjoying what she was doing.

Foolishly, she'd thought that by including Visha in the upcoming event, she was doing herself a favor. Anyone looking in her direction for a dance partner would approach the older woman instead. On top of that, she could reward one of her most valuable subordinates with no skin off her back. It had been a win-win situation up until an entire magazine of hairpins was unloaded against her.

From the way Visha was smoothing down a few errant strands of hair, they'd be moving on to the next stage of torture momentarily.

"Close your eyes," Visha instructed. As soon as Tanya obeyed, her face was hit with a puff of powder.

"Not too much," her adjutant continued, humming contentedly to herself. "At your age, you don't want to look like you're trying too hard to get attention."

Honestly, with Visha by her side, Tanya wasn't all that concerned about attracting too much attention. She would admit to having some concerns about her adjutant on that front, though. She would be twenty soon, but she could still be naïve when it came to certain subjects. Unless Tanya wanted the trouble of dealing with the other woman sniffling over a broken heart because someone was only interested in her for a night instead of for the long term, she'd have to keep her eye out. She didn't think her boss was that type of guy, but there was no such thing as being too careful.

"All done," Visha said, using her thumbnail to wipe a bit of lipstick that had strayed out of bounds. She turned Tanya around to face the mirror. "So pretty," she murmured.

"Don't say it like that," Tanya grumbled back.

She didn't want her adjutant getting any ideas about playing dress up again. And - well, it wasn't like there was something wrong if Visha was impressed by her appearance. In any world, being attractive always earned you bonus points. But "pretty little girl" wasn't exactly the impression she was hoping to leave tonight.

xXx

His recent trips to Ildoa aside, Colonel Erich von Lehrgen would grudgingly accede to having one thing in common with Tanya von Degurechaff - he'd gotten as little use out of his closet full of daily attire in the past year as she had out of her nonexistent one. Even when off-duty, slipping into uniform had become a habit.

Despite this, the hands occupied by tying white silk around his throat were so practiced at the art of making a bowtie they operated on their own with an automatic efficiency.

The Empire's eastern estate-holders weren't known for their sumptuous lifestyles, unlike their ennobled cousins in the west or their counterparts in the Commonwealth. They were a more austere bunch. Nevertheless, he'd been required to attend certain social functions for the better part of his life. In fact, he'd prefer not to think about how many years it was now that he'd been attending this particular event.

He met his partner for the event at her hotel. Despite being a military woman, she was refreshingly normal off-the-clock. Both Elya and Degurechaff left something to be desired as far as personally was concerned.

"Thank you again for bringing me along," Serebryakov said, halfway through the drive. "I'm sure Lieutenant Colonel von Degurechaff appreciates it as well. She's not so comfortable with events like this."

"I noticed," Lehrgen smiled.

"Shopping with her was…ahh…very interesting," she continued. "I never thought I'd meet a girl who hates looking pretty as much as she does. You'll barely recognize her. I made her look a proper lady," she said, clearly pleased with her effort.

He mused that corralling Degurechaff into a dress and shoes and makeup and styled hair had probably been more difficult than most battles she'd fought. It was no wonder she was proud of her work.

Within minutes of arriving, he spotted Degurechaff encamped in a corner of the room, and, as promised, escorted her adjutant over to her.

Her words were polite when she greeted him. Her smile was pleasant, if forced. But, while Serebryakov had been rather successful in making Tanya look like a regular girl, as soon as she caught his eye, there was no question in his mind that she was even more terrifying out of uniform. She had expressive eyes. And dressed to kill took on a whole different meaning when the look in them screamed that she'd murder everyone responsible for putting her there if she could get away with it.

As one of the guilty parties, a chill went down his spine. _This isn't my fault, _he sighed, wanting to shake her by the shoulders until she saw sense. _Do you see any women here that aren't wearing dresses? Did you want me to let you embarrass yourself? _

In spite of every attempt he made to catch up with friends and acquaintances outside the Army, inevitably, one of his coworkers would find him and distract him every twenty minutes or so. Two hours and several glasses of wine into the night, it was General von Romel's turn. By unfortunate circumstance, the man was now convinced that Lehrgen took the same approach to managing Degurechaff as he did, and he'd come over to heap praise on his favorite subordinate officer.

"Wait," Romel said, interrupting what Lehrgen had been saying and pointing over his shoulder with a look of amusement. "Get a look at this."

Lehrgen turned to see. Major Weiss, evidently well-inebriated, was dragging Tanya away from her conversation partner and out towards where everyone was dancing. _Please don't make a scene,_ he willed her mentally.

He hadn't expected her to be good at it, necessarily, but she was so awful at dancing that it defied the imagination. It was incredible that someone who could be so graceful in the air couldn't make a single step correctly.

The wine he'd drank left him helpless against the fit of laughter that bubbled up at watching her, and Romel soon joined the outburst. They laughed all the harder when Weiss gave up and lifted her to stand on his feet.

When the song was drawing to a close, Romel motioned that the two of them should go over.

_I'm not volunteering to injure myself, _Lehrgen thought, excusing himself with a shake of his head. He'd let Romel try his hand at teaching her so he might fit in at least one dance with the woman he'd brought with him.

Unlike her superior, his dance partner was extremely elegant and didn't make a single misstep.

"Where did you learn, if I might ask?" he inquired after a few passes.

"It was required in my family," she answered, with a nostalgic smile. "And my mother was insistent I learn ballet as well."

"Ah, yes, your friend Lieutenant Weber did mention something about that," he replied. "I'm impressed you remember so well after all the years in between."

"I…umm…practice by myself, when I can," she said, blushing.

"You should," he replied, "you won't be in uniform the rest of your life. Or at least I hope not."

He realized almost immediately that that might have come out wrong. He hadn't meant it that way. He'd meant that he hoped the war was over soon. He opened his mouth to clarify, but Serebryakov either didn't take it wrong or was graciously avoiding it, because she'd already changed the subject.

"I do wonder what the lieutenant colonel will do after the war…" she said, glancing over her shoulder towards where Romel was engaged in what could only be described as a different sort of maneuver warfare than usual with Degurechaff. He didn't look to be winning.

Lehrgen wondered about Degurechaff's future occasionally himself. As much as seeing her around the office for the next thirty years made him want to consider alternative careers, keeping her in the military would probably be for the best. The hierarchy she was so enamored with would curb her worst impulses so long as she wasn't promoted too far.

The military was rather progressive, but there weren't any women with the title of general attached to their name, and even she might find the ingrained and unspoken rule hard to fight against. God forbid the day ever came that she decided she'd rather start wars than fight in them, and got herself into politics.

"She's very capable. I'm sure she'll find something," he placated. Viktoriya sighed and then nodded.

"I…I just hope she can be happy one day."

"You think she isn't?" She shook her head in response.

"I don't think so. I'm not so sure. I used to…the first time I met her I thought she was like a vampire, but…"

Interesting. And almost pitiful, in a way. Degurechaff didn't like many people so far as he could tell. And here were the two of them, two of the very few people that she did express some favor for, both imagining her some sort of monster.

"She makes a strong first impression," he said, to which Serebryakov gave a snort of laughter, and then a sad smile.

"I used to think she liked it. She's so good at what she does. But sometimes I…I think she's just pretending. I catch her, sometimes, when she thinks no one sees, and she looks so…so…so forlorn. She hides it as soon as she notices I'm there, but…I don't know. I'm not sure what to make of it."

"She's lucky to have an adjutant that cares so much," he said truthfully.

"It's the least I can do. I wouldn't be alive if it weren't for her. And she can be nice once you get to know her. A little prickly, but I think she does care about us in her own way."

He didn't reply. What was there to say except that he thought Degurechaff's very occasional instances of kindness an act to ingratiate her with others? If it comforted Serebryakov to believe it genuine, robbing her of that illusion would be unnecessarily cruel.

The subject of their conversation marched over shortly, supported on Romel's arm, to pull her adjutant away, leaning on her friend for balance as they went to find food.

"You should give it a try," Romel said, clapping him on the shoulder. "You're better than I am, you might get through to her."

"Politely, sir, I'm going to have to decline."

"It's a bit fun trying to dodge her heel coming down on your toes."

"Ending up in the hospital after she trips me isn't what I'd call fun, sir," Lehrgen chuckled.

"She's not so much worse than I was when I first started."

"Frankly, sir, I think I'd rather have taken my chances with you."

* * *

_A/N: Visha asks Tanya if she knows how to dance at the end of Vol 5 and it induced me to torture her by inventing a society ball that has zero historical basis._

_That Vol 7 illustration where he looks like he's going 'Tanya, why do you have to be like this?' and she's giving the eyeroll of the century like 'why can't people just listen to me' is the most correct form of their relationship and exactly how I imagine their conversation at the end of the first section looked. Eventually they get to those Vol 9 illustrations where Tanya looks like she's going 'oh fuck oh fuck' and he's staring out the window like 'how has my life come to this?'_


	10. X Gon' Give it To Ya

.

**November 26, 1927  
General Staff Office, Imperial Capital Berun**

The most recent debate over how to best use the troops remaining at the General Staff's disposal having faded from shouts into murmurs the previous week meant that each commanding officer in the building had arrived for the day and shortly thereafter been delivered a sealed packet into his hands, the newest batch of orders ready to be opened and read and followed.

Colonel Erich von Lehrgen settled into his chair to begin the day, placed both saucer and cup of coffee down on his desk, and took the package his adjutant had handed him a few minutes earlier from underneath an arm.

Fishing the letter opener out from the top drawer of his desk, where the items contained within remained in a jumble in defiance of every attempt he made at ordering them, he made a neat slice across the top of the envelope.

Once he'd discarded the cover page and was getting prepared to read the final report on the Empire's newest strategy, he picked his coffee back up so he could drink it as he digested his latest orders.

Before he could take his first sip, the cup was shakily returned to its resting place. It was all he could do not to drop it and ruin either his uniform or the rug underneath him.

_Maybe having an excuse to go home and change wouldn't be so bad, _Lehrgen grumbled to himself. Though, he knew if he did that, it would be all the harder to return. If he started using bad news as an excuse for a respite from the stresses of his job, soon enough he'd never leave his bed.

There were slight but consequential changes to the plans as he'd last heard them. As with a good portion of the unhappy tidings he'd heard recently, his own subordinate was partially to blame, even if Lehrgen knew she couldn't help herself.

_There's such a thing as being too useful_, he thought, letting his head droop forward against the heavy weight behind his eyes. He'd like nothing more than to pick up the phone and give Lieutenant General von Romel a piece of his mind. A certain lieutenant colonel might not be able to focus on anything besides the target in front of her, but Romel ought to know better.

The real problem was that the troops on the front lines weren't kept informed of the bigger picture. To keep morale high, they had to believe they could win. That gave certain generals with a penchant for pushing forward, sometimes against orders, the confidence to move swiftly and decisively.

_He and Degurechaff are peas in a rotten pod, _Lehrgen thought darkly. Together, the two of them had managed to advance so far through Republican territory that soon it was likely the Empire would take Turus itself. The victories hadn't come cheaply. The Imperial Army could ill afford further losses beyond what they'd already planned on.

Tactically, taking Turus would be a stunning victory. Strategically, less so. It would be yet another territory to occupy and manage. And it wouldn't defeat the Republic, simply push them back to their next stronghold. If they hadn't given up when their capital was taken, there was no chance of them giving in over a lesser city.

Unquestionably, for the offensive planned in Stalyngrad, men currently stationed on the Southern Continent would be needed on the Eastern Front. What Lehrgen's newest update threw into question was whether the Kaiser would even allow the troop movement. His sovereign had become so enamored of the chance to have a proper colonial territory in the Mediterranean that he had decided to intervene personally, delaying the offensive against the Federation as long as possible. Lehrgen would have to remember to bow to his distractible four-year-old nephew the next time he saw him. He hadn't realized the boy was running the country.

As soon as he'd gathered his wits again, Lehrgen took out his map and began the process of marking the future troop positions and strengths, the routine a comforting way of convincing himself that the Empire didn't need as many men on the Eastern Front as he thought.

Lost in minutiae that was irrelevant to someone in his position, he didn't register that much time had passed until his phone rang, jarring him out of his thoughts.

"Lieutenant Colonel von Degurechaff here to see you, sir," his adjutant reported promptly.

Truthfully, she was one of the last people he wanted to see. His mood was already gloomy, and in the time he'd known her, she hadn't once done anything to improve it. But, discussing her orders with her was a part of his job, so he gave her permission to come in.

"So, Lieutenant Colonel," Lehrgen began after they'd greeted each other, unable to keep his sour attitude from leaking into his tone, "you must be pleased with your newest orders."

"No, sir," she said stridently. "Not at all."

"The Imperial Army is practically camped outside Turus, and you don't think we should take it?" he confirmed, the alien sensation of agreeing with her almost unpleasant, even if it did lift his spirits a touch.

She glanced sideways and hesitated.

"Your honest opinion, please."

She took a deep breath. "Sir, I'd like to state me strong objection for the record. Trying to take Turus on the timeline in the latest strategy is only possible if we throw away half the army on the Southern Continent in the process."

"And you don't think that's worth it?"

"Those same men would be much more effectively used against the Federation. Once we take Turus, we won't have a large offensive in the south again unless we march on Algére. Personally, I'd much rather have a larger army surrounding me in the east. That's where most of the fighting will be," she reasoned, a heartless smile stealing over her face.

_Of course, _Lehrgen thought, wanting to roll his eyes at his own stupidity in thinking that just because they had the same opinion, they had the same reasons for it. _In the east, there's practically an endless series of battles to fight, and the more men we have, the further we can go._

"They aren't the orders I would have given either," he sighed. "Sometimes I wonder if we aren't so concentrated on completing the next strategic objective that we forget the general objective is to win the war. But all we can do is make the best of the plans we've been given."

To his surprise, she backed down from her adversarial posture and her attitude transformed into something more congenial. As someone with a propensity for causing exactly the sort of problem Lehrgen was criticizing, not to mention being the person who'd proposed the whole total war theory in the first place, he'd expected Degurechaff to take issue with most of his statement.

"It's good to hear there's someone on the General Staff who agrees with me," she said.

_Agree _was a slightly stronger word than Lehrgen would use in this instance. They may have reached the same conclusion, but through very different means. Still, at least she was focused on winning the war instead of some sort of vanity project, so for now, he could overlook the rest.

No matter what they had to sacrifice on the Southern Continent, nothing was worth the potential disaster of undermanning the Eastern Front. The Imperial Army was all that lay between the Federation's army and Berun. When it came to the Southern Continent, there was a sizeable sea preventing the Republic from marching into the heart of the Empire.

"I'm not the only one, but we have a higher authority to answer to," he replied.

"If the Kaiser wants to waste resources so inefficiently, I'd be happy to personally assist him in setting fire to a few oil depots instead," she laughed irreverently.

Their situation was so absurd that Lehrgen nearly laughed along with her. With her very words she betrayed that she had not a drop of compassion in her for her fellow man, that they were no more valuable to her than an inanimate object, yet she nonetheless wanted to save thousands of lives so she could make use of them with more efficiency. Truly, the world had become a place devoid of normal logic.

Absently, he reached for the cup of coffee he'd abandoned an hour ago when he'd first read the documents he was currently agonizing over. He got the feeling that he had a long day ahead of him. Perhaps a long week or a long month. Maybe, if they were unlucky, a long year.

He took a sip after lifting the porcelain to his mouth and grimaced. He should have realized it would be cold by now.

"Here," Tanya said, motioning to his cup. He handed it over. She gave it back a few seconds later, steam rising from the top.

In her presence, it was easy to forget that magic could be used for things besides wholesale slaughter. He fought the urge to smile at her in response to the friendly gesture, reminding himself that he was at risk of falling into the very same trap that Lieutenant Serebryakov had. Endearing herself to her superior officer was nothing but a self-serving move. There was nothing kind or altruistic about it.

After she left, Lehrgen shook his head in bewilderment. He didn't think he'd ever see the day he wished other people would start looking at the world through Degurechaff's stark lens of pure, unemotional logic.

If anyone should want to take Turus, it should be she and Romel, who had brought them within reach of the city. Her lack of attachment to anything besides productivity allowed her to give it up without a second thought.

_When I put it that way, she's not that hard to work with, _he considered, taking another sip of his pleasantly warm coffee. In fact, it made her a fair bit easier to deal with than hot-headed subordinates. Even if something was fundamentally wrong with her way of looking at things, she could at least be counted on to behave predictably once she was off the battlefield. On that level, he could have been saddled with someone far worse as a direct report.

**January 2, 1928  
Near Morozovisk, Imperial Ober Ost**

Automatically, Tanya's shoulder turned, letting the deadly spell fly harmlessly by. As soon as the momentary shock wore off, she inhaled deeply. Yelling wasn't strictly necessary with a voice amplification spell at her disposal, but the useless idiots she'd be commanding over the next few days would never learn if she didn't put some energy into it.

"Which of you fucking half-wits almost killed me?" she shouted.

She'd have to give credit to whichever member of the 203rd had passed along the warning to the other mages. Despite her diminutive stature, her new charges had taken her seriously from the start. Sheepishly, the guilty soldier raised a hand to identify himself.

"Did you sleep through your lessons on directional spells?" she spat.

"M-m-my deepest apologies, ma'am," the man - or boy, really, he couldn't have been more than a year older than she was - stuttered out, "but by the time I was in training, the course had been cut down to focus only on homing spells."

Sheesh. If the Imperial Army was hurting for mages so badly they were sending them out into battle half-trained, they might as well capitulate right now. Cutting the R&D department's budget might bump up share prices in the short term, but it was no way to run a company. Especially not one that she was working for.

After watching the casualties in the other mage battalions when they'd taken Turus, Tanya had a hard time being optimistic. Now that she was back on the Eastern Front, it was time to take matters into her own hands. Even if it was exhausting, training the rest of the mages in her vicinity was an absolute necessity. They were supporting the 203rd, who was shielding her. She couldn't have them dropping like flies.

If this was what she had to work with, she'd have to adjust her approach. Putting students who needed remedial lessons in the same class as the ones who passed the exam was a waste of everyone's time. Luckily, two of her lieutenants had learned to be elite soldiers the hard way. It shouldn't be any trouble for them to knock some sense into the heads of the weakest links.

"Everyone whose basic training was cut short, form up in that direction," she said, pointing out where they should gather. "Lieutenants Grantz and Serebryakov will teach you how to hit enemy soldiers instead of our own. The rest of you will stay with me and Major Weiss."

A few of the men in the former group smiled tentatively in Visha's direction as she flew over to them. _How nice and innocent they all are, _Tanya scoffed.

"Don't let the cute face distract you," she reminded them. "She's one of the strongest mages in the Empire. All of you together won't stand a chance once she gets serious."

She caught Visha blushing at the praise as she flew off, and then turned to Weiss.

"Time to see if the rest of them can at least aim correctly," she muttered under her breath.

"Are you sure you want the war to end so soon? Give it another year and you might finally get to train someone younger than you," her second-in-command ribbed.

"Two months of latrine duty not enough for you?"

Weiss winced. He'd think twice next time he decided to include her in his drunken antics. If he knew the same history as she did, he wouldn't be making light of their upcoming battle.

Taking part in major offensives was something Tanya avoided when possible. While in some sense being mixed into a large group provided some advantages, such as having others to blame in the event of failure, for herself personally, the drawbacks were not worth it.

She always had orders to follow, but in general, commanding her battalion or a _Kampfgruppe _allowed her flexibility. Crucially, it offered the flexibility to not die needlessly because other parts of the Army didn't do their job well enough.

She was basically confident in her ability to subvert her orders in such a way that it preserved her life, but that was altogether more difficult when you were face to face with a general who was ordering you to die if necessary. If you couldn't explain why you'd failed to die like everyone else, you'd better hope he believes in dumb luck, or your next stop was the firing squad.

She would like nothing more than to give a polite _no thank you_ to her current assignment, which she'd received within twenty-four hours of the Imperial Army storming Turus. With not a single day's rest in between, her _Kampfgruppe _had been disbanded so that her battalion could head to the Eastern Front.

The location of her next battle didn't come as a surprise to her, she could read a map after all, and as far back as a year ago she'd seen the signs that the Empire might end up advancing towards the city whose name should send a shudder down the spine of anyone who had even a passing acquaintance with military history. While she could no longer remember the exact positions of German military lines in the world wars, if she'd ever known them off the top of her head, she could at least tell that the positions along the Eastern Front had resembled those of the second war more closely than the first.

Aside from knowledge taken from another time and place, there was no specific reason to fear that this offensive had much chance of becoming the bloodbath she remembered reading about. Especially not for her. She would be in the air, not trapped in a city, though the air above Stalyngrad was going to be densely packed with Federation mages all the same. The chance to kill communists in large numbers was enticing, but if she had to leave some communists alive to improve her chances of staying alive, that was fine by her. There was no reason to tempt fate. Especially not when she had a vengeful spirit working against her.

As soon as Tanya had received the news of her participation in the spring offensive, she wrote several pleas disguised as strongly worded warnings about leaving the northern part of the front relatively barren, but they'd either been ignored or denied. The likelihood of action the north was low, so obviously that was where she'd prefer to be. She'd done her very best to convey the message that her battalion was perfect for defending the long stretch of the northeastern front because of how quickly it could move and how disproportionately effective it was, but that had fallen on deaf ears.

Several hours later, she caught a car driving into camp. Taking out her binoculars, she identified the officer who stepped out of the back seat. _I suppose we can be done with training for the day, _she thought, glancing at the setting sun.

If her superior officer had arrived in person, it probably wasn't a good sign. She might have been a bit overzealous if the General Staff was nervous enough that she was going to be a flight risk that they'd felt the need to send a babysitter.

"Colonel," she greeted him, touching down before offering a salute.

"I'm afraid there's no hope of sending you north," he said glumly. "I wish I could tell you different."

She gave a sympathetic smile to the man who was just as disappointed with his task as she was. She'd heard he'd done his best to defend her idea of using the 203rd to guard the northern part of the border. Even if he hadn't succeeded, she had to be thankful of how hard he was trying to protect her and put her in a relatively tranquil part of the front.

"I appreciate it all the same," she told him.

She'd have to remind her men to stay on coffee warming duty when he was around. She didn't usually go out of her way for the sake of someone else, but drinking it at room temperature was a punishment that only communists and Being X deserved to suffer. In this case, she didn't mind lending a helping hand to her comrades who lacked mana.

xXx

The officer's mess in the current camp lived up to the standard it was supposed to meet. As fine of food as could be expected, porcelain plates, delicate silverware, and white tablecloths. With the number of high-ranking generals populating it, it came as no surprise to Colonel Erich von Lehrgen.

He'd arrived just in time for dinner, and the only complaint he had about his meal was that the person sitting across from him was the very same person who had nearly given him a heart attack when she'd dropped suddenly down in front of him from the sky.

Even though he'd dutifully informed her that no amount of convincing on her part was going to change her orders, she was nattering on incessantly about the mistake the General Staff was making in not listening to her.

Lehrgen didn't know what was making Degurechaff so restive, but one thing he did know about her was that she had a deep personal hatred of communists. Whether it stemmed from their atheism or from the way they'd challenged Imperial hegemony he couldn't say, but if she wanted to give up the chance to kill so many of them that her uniform was liable to be unwearable due to all the blood, something had to be wrong. That wasn't like her at all.

There was no reason to believe the northern part of the front would see any action within the next few months. As predicted, the taking of Turus had badly damaged the army on the Southern Continent, to the degree it could be almost termed Pyrrhic. There were fewer reinforcements sent north than the General Staff had hoped. Still, the Empire had enough men on the Eastern Front to cover what areas needed it. There may not have been as many men outside of Stalyngrad as they would like, but based on the casualty rates they'd seen when taking other Soviet cities, it was enough.

What worried him was that Degurechaff had an intuition so keen that most of the time it wouldn't surprise him if she could read minds. The evidence was in fact very much stacked in favor of her having that ability. Maybe the Type 95 granted powers that Schugel didn't know about and she'd never deigned to reveal.

The only reason he wasn't convinced she had the capacity was that if she did, Lehrgen didn't know how to explain his continued existence. He'd thought quite a number of unkind things in her presence.

If she was going to such lengths to get reassigned further north, he'd decided he was going to do his utmost to support her. If that's where she thought she'd have the best chance of a good fight, he'd trust her instincts.

He'd tried his best, and there had been some sympathizers, but not enough. On top of that, he'd been ordered to the front himself. He was fairly certain that was mostly because General von Rudersdorf wanted someone he trusted to send him detailed observations and it wasn't meant as a punishment, but he wasn't completely sure of that. He didn't think he'd disagreed _that _stridently. So maybe he shouldn't say he'd tried his best. He'd tried, but he wasn't going to get court-martialed for her.

That's not to say he didn't fear what was to come if they failed to heed her advice yet again. It was just that the only thing left for him to do would be to give her a directive under his own authority in complete opposition to the will of the General Staff.

He'd pass on the chance to face a firing squad together. The only good thing that could come of dying with her was that when they arrived in Hell together and she was welcomed home with open arms, maybe she'd remember to put in a good word for him with the management.

He broke himself out of that train of thought, watching her hands move as she animatedly made her case for the twelfth time. He was being dramatic. Men of his position were not summarily executed for disobedience. And Tanya had done nothing offensive enough in the last year to warrant the thought he'd just had. He should treat her more fairly. Despite her faults, she was doing her best to ensure an Imperial victory.

She'd been a damn useful subordinate. Sometimes too useful for his liking, but he shouldn't criticize someone for hard work. His name was already being thrown around for promotion again on account of his management of her. Lehrgen didn't think he'd done much managing, but he wasn't going to be the one to say so.

When the meal finished with her bringing over a piping hot cup of coffee along with a belated apology for dragging him all the way out to the east, he almost felt guilty.

**January 7, 1928  
Between Morozovisk and Stalyngrad, Imperial Ober Ost**

It was a warm winter. Unusually warm, in a way that encouraged a heady optimism in the commanding officers used to being at a disadvantage against the Soviets during the season, their attention already focused on the nearness of victory if Stalyngrad fell.

The artillery barrage was opening for a third day, and there wasn't a single member of the Imperial Army impervious to the sense of triumph that was building in the ranks. The progress may have been slow, but it was better than the near-stalemate that had been present for the past few months.

It didn't cause immediate alarm when reports about movement further north came in. If the northern army was anything like their southern peers, the Empire had the superior force. It was expected, even, that the northern army would be pushed to move ahead of schedule in an effort to distract the Empire into sending troops that way, providing relief for the men defending Stalyngrad.

A few days later, when the call came in from a harried operator that the Federation Army had broken the Empire's defensive line, worry took hold of the command tent. Lehrgen wasn't alone in thinking that though this was the first time such a thing had happened in all their years at war, it was unlikely to be the last. The Imperial Army had suffered too much attrition to be overwhelmingly powerful any longer.

It wasn't until the second call that panic began to set in. It was from a different operator and a different area, but with much graver news. Apparently, the communist cells in Polaska had decided that now was their time to strike. At this point, they had little to lose and everything to gain. If the Empire took Stalyngrad and went on to win the war, whatever movement they thought they'd started would die in an instant. They were desperate to prevent that, so even if they lacked the popular support for a real rebellion, they could hope terrorism and confusion would be enough to help the cause. The worrisome thing was that they might be right. If other dangerous groups in other disputed territories caught wind of unrest, it might turn into a constellation of internal hotspots.

Once the initial flurry of calls died down, Lehrgen began to pace in front of the switchboard, growing progressively more annoyed with waving off an increasingly panicked subordinate as he tried to watch for an open phone. He needed all of thirty seconds for a personal call. Just to make sure everything was safe and sound at home.

He wasn't sure what Degurechaff wanted, but there were several officers ranked higher than himself that she could speak to if she had something to contribute. They were all waiting for confirmation and orders from HQ, so there was little he could offer her besides an ear to complain into.

After fifteen minutes of avoiding her successfully, she decided to ignore that he was ignoring her, and came over to stand directly in front of him.

"Sir," she said, quietly, looking around to see if anyone else was listening to their conversation.

He glanced around himself. All other occupants of the command tent were either engaged with actual work or were busy running back and forth between conversations.

"Yes, Lieutenant Colonel?" he asked, not bothering to keep the exasperation out of his voice. At least she was short, so it was no trouble to watch for a phone over her head.

"There's something I'd like to speak to you about. Privately," she said, looking around again.

"Yes, alright, when I get a chance," he told her dismissively.

"I'd like to speak now," she said, taking a tone that was not appropriate for addressing a superior officer.

"Fine, just give me a minute," he replied.

"We don't have a minute, sir," she stressed, face a mask of calm, but he could see the tension underneath.

He sighed and decided to be honest with her. "I have family near some of the affected areas, just give me a moment to-"

"Colonel, I understand, but our duty is to protect our fatherland, and that's what I need to speak to you about," she interrupted.

"You have no family. You could never understand," he snapped back. He may have begun to regard her coolheadedness as an asset under certain circumstances, but right now her inability to be sympathetic was grating on his very last nerve.

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He saw anger reflected back at him in her eyes.

"Be that as it may," she said, tightly, "if we don't stop the Federation in the north as soon as we can, it may doom us down here as well."

He swallowed the groan that wanted to escape, decided that his duty to the Empire was more important after all, and left with her in tow.

"Please authorize my battalion to sortie immediately," she said, as soon as they were away from the central tent.

"You'll need General von Mackenson's permission for that," he sighed, for what felt like the thousandth time that day. Why she'd brought him out here just to ask the impossible was beyond him. "We're still drawing up plans for which troops will be reassigned north, and the specific mage battalion hasn't been selected."

"I did ask," she said sullenly. "He's waiting for HQ, but they're distracted with the developments in Polaska."

Of course. Of course she'd find the field marshal and ask him directly. No one had ever described her as humble. What else had he expected?

"Then I don't know what you want me to do," he replied, frustrated at everything right now, but at her especially.

"Give me the order to go," she repeated. "You have the authority."

"You are a part of Eastern Command right now, I do not have the-"

"If you have your documents with you, you can check for yourself," she interrupted, for the second time. "Technically, I still report directly to HQ through you. The understanding is that we fall under Mackenson's command, but on paper the 203rd is an irregular unit. With your permission, we can go now."."

"And why is that so important?" he asked curiously. "The lines will reform further back, we have ample territory to lose if it comes down to it."

"They've broken through at the closest point to Kyev. If they take it, it would be a mess worse than Arene was."

"That's a big if," Lehrgen said skeptically.

"It is," she confirmed. "But it carries too high a risk to ignore. If we can't supply Stalyngrad properly, we'll lose the battle. And if that happens…"

"We may not be able to win the war," he finished. The issue wasn't so much that losing Stalyngrad would lose them the war, but that losing it would mean an almost permanent stall to an Imperial advance. Not a loss, but a win either. A slow, grinding attrition put it to chance as to which army would be exhausted first.

"Exactly," Degurechaff sighed. "And committing aerial troops doesn't have to be for the long-term. If we can reestablish control quickly, my battalion can be back in two or three days. If we're missing for that time it won't change the course of the offensive."

She followed Lehrgen back to his tent while he found his briefcase and verified what she'd said for himself. She was right. Technically. He could give her the order. That didn't mean there wouldn't be consequences, and possibly severe ones, if he did as she asked.

He closed his eyes and tilted his head back to think. If he'd risked a little more a week or two ago and gotten her reassigned to the north, he wouldn't be in the position of making a much larger gamble now. She'd been right all along, just like with the evacuation at Brest. How she'd known was another question, but that was one he doubted he'd ever have an answer to.

He glanced down at her, and she looked just as tired as he felt. Utterly exhausted, even. No part of her gave off the impression of wanting to undertake a long flight and then engage an enemy with only a few hours' rest in between.

For once he didn't think this had anything to do with some sort of insatiable bloodlust. There was only resignation in her voice, no excitement. He couldn't bring himself to believe that she was asking this for any reason other than that she thought it imperative.

He nodded and gave her a simple "go," waiting for her to leave before collapsing into his chair and wondering what he'd just done.

xXx

_I can do this_, Tanya told herself, instinctively reinforcing her barrier in the places where she judged that enemy fire was going to land. She'd faced worse odds before, even if the poor performance of the local battalion she'd joined up with was making the battle closer to 3:1 than the 3:2 it should have been.

One of the battalions from the Federation was good enough to be called elite, but still, they weren't on par with her men. Their other battalion was nothing special. The third was that bunch from the Commonwealth that seemed to have it out for her personally. Regardless of their numerical superiority, with Tanya's help, the Imperial mages were slowly getting the better of their enemies. Her men truly were worthy of praise. All the effort she'd poured into them really would pay off in the end.

She was caught off-guard when one of the Commonwealth mages broke rank and headed directly for her. _Dammit, _she cursed, fear pooling in her gut. She wasn't sure if she could get a spell together in time, saw the other woman's bullet, loaded with mana, coming for her, flinched as it seemed her end was approaching, and then felt herself covered in warm, sticky blood.

She spared a glance downwards and saw Lieutenant Grantz falling out of the sky, but she had no time to think about that now.

She heard the Federation mages shouting at their ally that Tanya was supposed to be captured, not killed. She didn't want to know what fate awaited her after that happened.. She doubted it was anything good. Being a celebrity among Named mages really was troublesome.

Heedless, the enemy mage turned back to make another pass at her, and she saw that it was that one girl who refused to die. Reluctantly, Tanya drew the Type 95 out of a pocket and activated it. Now wasn't the time to play nice.


	11. Lost in Translation

.

**January 11, 1928  
Outside Stalyngrad, Imperial Ober Ost**

Even for a major military encampment, the Imperial Army's command tent was hyperactive. It buzzed with shouts and curses, the ring of phones and the sound of them being slammed back into place, the footsteps of men running back and forth from one conversation to the next or pacing anxiously.

There were maps in the most unlikely of places. Every piece of information about the 1917 communist revolution ever produced appeared to be littering the tables. There were hurriedly calculated figures on the back pages of anything that wasn't a vital document being pointed at with vigor, so anyone passing by could see how optimistic, or not, the person holding them was.

As the initial shock wore off, Imperial officers got down to what they did best: planning. Two bad omens weren't a death knell. Or at least they didn't have to be. A hiccup in the plans, but not one that a little resourcefulness couldn't fix. The only thing that would be deadly was giving in to panic and pessimism.

"More coffee, sir," Colonel Erich von Lehrgen heard from beside him.

He took the cup from his adjutant gratefully and motioned for him to sit. Even if Lieutenant Ernst Sauer wouldn't add much to the discussion, having someone there to explain things to would force his mind to operate with the clarity and thoroughness he needed from it.

Aside from the Federation, the real enemy was distance. The only large concentration of men anywhere near the break in the lines was there in Stalyngrad, and they needed most of them if they wanted the offensive to go anywhere. To shore up the weakness in other parts of the front, they'd need to scrape the already thinly-staffed occupation zones to the bone. It would take a week or more to re-stabilize everything.

Once that happened, distance might become more of a boon than anything else. Any other territories itching to get out from the under the Empire's thumb were isolated from each other. It might take some finesse to prevent a wider upset, but without the ability to coordinate easily amongst themselves, there was little hope in a united uprising.

The most pressing issue had already been dealt with – the 203rd would ensure the Federation didn't enjoy aerial supremacy and hamper their ability to make a quick move towards Kyev. So long as they stopped that, the current offensive could move along as planned. It had to, or else…_or else, _he sighed to himself.

Looking up from his map and around the tent, Lehrgen saw the same realization that had occurred to him weeks ago dawning on the faces of the other officers. Taking Stalyngrad wasn't simply the quickest path to victory. It might be the only one. Without it, the Empire wouldn't lose the war, but it would seriously call into question whether they could ever win. They had nothing more to give at this point.

_I can't think about that right now, _he reminded himself. New developments meant new plans, and as a representative from HQ, he'd have to help make them.

**January 12, 1928  
Southwest of Briansk, Imperial Ober Ost**

It was a bird that woke Colonel Mikel Nikolayevich Tukhachevsky. The innocent, sweet call of a robin in springtime. It was not the alarm clock he deserved.

He didn't deserve the refreshing morning dew, nor the peaceful quiet of the dense forest. Not the rays of light filtering softly through leaves, and not the flicker of lively orange he caught when a fox darted away, startled by his movement. He closed his eyes again. He'd give death one last chance to creep up on him in his stupor, in the form of some animal or another, and take him to where he belonged.

His orders had started off like any others. A limited offensive at a weak point in the lines, intended more to disrupt their enemy's larger offensive than cause much damage by itself. He'd been glad of the assignment. It seemed to him a much safer one than facing the brunt of the Empire's forces further south.

At first, things had gone largely as predicted. A modest advance that allowed the Federation to reclaim some of the ground it had lost. Either way, it provided a distraction. The Empire would realize what they were aiming for and draw some troops away from Stalyngrad to assist, or they would be foolish enough to allow the Federation to continue making modest advances until it was too late. Mikel's army didn't need to hold Kyev indefinitely, only for long enough that it hampered the Imperial offensive.

Then, the call had come. No doubt wanting to keep track of the Empire's most hated mage battalion, any contact with them was to be reported to Moskva immediately. One of Mikel's men had dutifully done so. An hour later, out of breath with excitement, Comrade Loria had phoned him.

"The Devil of the Rhine's more important than anything else," Loria had said. "I'll send reinforcements to you. Capture her. But don't kill her. Whatever you do, don't do that."

_Capture her, _Mikel had been told. _Capture her, _he'd told his men. And that was why Colonel Mikel did not deserve a pleasant morning in his life ever again. He'd forgotten, until he'd seen her, that Loria's crimes were rumored to extend far beyond venality.

The last he'd seen of the girl, she'd been in the arms of her soldiers. She might be dead by now. It would be a kinder fate than what had awaited her in Moskva.

In the days of the Tsar, nobody would have ever believed Mikel if he told them the truth about his last battle. The Soviets had more equitable views on gender, so perhaps, in time, his grandchildren would listen without laughing. It was not men that had decided the battle, but women. Hardly more than girls, really.

Luckily, the two monsters that had prayed for strength to some dark God had kept focused on each other, or else they'd all be casualty figures. The Legadonian girl dead and the Imperial one dying, ultimately, it was difficult to know which side had won. Neither, really. It would be up to the ground troops to battle it out without much in the way of aerial support.

A third girl, a bit older than the other two, who'd been so deadly she'd almost taken out a whole company on her own, had almost been another name on the list of lives lost. But when Mikel had found her in the woods, fallen and injured, he hadn't been able to deny the pleas she'd made in their shared language, had bound her hands and taken her orb and sent her off with two of his own injured men as prisoner. The least he could do would be to make sure she was safe.

By now, Mikel could hear the sounds of his men awakening. It was his duty to live and fight another day.

He stood up slowly, every muscle protesting in agony. Perhaps fighting other soldiers was more ambitious than they could manage. Something that wouldn't fight back would be preferable. He'd seen enough carnage. And since he'd failed to do as asked, he was already a dead man, unless he could appeal to Comrade Josef himself. Giving his men a break contrary to orders wouldn't worsen that fate. He refused to have anything to do with another of Loria's personal requests.

Some monsters were worse than others.

xXx

When the shouting began and he stepped outside to check on the commotion was when Colonel von Lehrgen realized that he hadn't slept a single minute the whole night through. He hadn't even lain down in bed to try. Holed up in the tent, he'd had only the faintest sense that time was passing.

It was just after sunrise, the warm, bright morning in stark contrast to the dark faces of the men he saw. Bruised, bloodied, and slick with sweat, they were the same faces he'd sent north yesterday, excepting the fact that there were fewer of them.

The most notable absence was that of their commanding officer. A horrible part of him had always imagined he'd feel relief if and when he heard the news that she'd been permanently and irrevocably retired from action. But in the end, she'd exemplified the bravery and self-sacrifice of a model soldier. Even if she'd been chasing the thrill of battle, it was hard not to feel respect for the girl who would go down as one of the Empire's youngest casualties.

The sound of Major Weiss crying, quite literally, for a doctor made Lehrgen look up, where he saw a familiar blonde ponytail. The major was cradling his commander carefully, like he was afraid to move her head. In that case, the chances were that she still lived. At least for now.

The fact that the battalion was back, and in this state, told Lehrgen everything he needed to know about whether or not they'd been successful. If he had more energy, he may have joined Weiss in tears. He knew, logically, that their eventual win or loss did not hinge on the fate of a single battalion. But to see them defeated was another item on the current list of bad omens. It was hard to fight the feeling that his past few years of life had been spent in pursuit of a lost cause.

"Sauer," he said, turning to his adjutant, "would you…"

"Yes, sir?" Ernst asked after a moment.

Lehrgen had been intending to ask for another cup of coffee, but he'd changed his mind mid-sentence.

"You didn't see anything of importance happening in the tent when we left to come outside, did you?"

"No, sir. Not really. I think most of what's left is waiting for HQ to approve what we sent."

"Good. Your time is your own until I come find you again."

Everything always looked better after a few hours of sleep. It was high time he got some. Even in the bright light of day, it took less than a minute for him to drift off once his head hit the pillow.

Lehrgen was awoken with a shake to his left shoulder, the feeling barely registering through the haze of half-consciousness.

"Sir?" he heard, his adjutant's voice making its way through the fog.

His eyes blinked open, and he began to get his bearings. The hard surface beneath his cheek could only be his desk. The pain burning a stinging line along his temple meant he'd fallen asleep with his glasses on. It was light enough that the sun had been up for at least an hour. In his last memory, it had been just past four in the morning.

"You said you wanted to know when Lieutenant Colonel von Degurechaff woke up."

He nodded and stretched, limbs aching from having slept in his chair. It had been three days, almost exactly, since her battalion had brought her back. She'd been unconscious the entire time, which Lehrgen would confess to being jealous over.

Through pure luck, he'd ended up being congratulated on making his own decision to use the 203rd. If the enemy battalions had been strong enough to deal the Empire's best soldiers so much damage, any other one wouldn't have stood a chance. The Federation would have handily won and enjoyed continued aerial supremacy for their push for Kyev.

He'd heard most of the story from Weiss. Procedurally, he needed Degurechaff's version of events as well. And the duty fell to him to update her on the current situation.

He made the short walk to the medical tent slowly. Nobody awoke from a three-day coma ready to report for duty, so he'd let a few extra minutes pass in the interim, give her time to gather her thoughts.

Before he reached her bed, he knew something was off. In a sense, something was always off with her, but this was different. She was missing something. And it wasn't the usual - empathy, emotions, morals - it was like she was missing whatever made her _her_.

She was staring down at the rosary in her hand, quietly mumbling prayers. She'd given no acknowledgement that he was there.

"Has she been like this since she woke up?" he asked the doctor. The man gave a nod. "Can you do anything about it?"

The doctor shrugged like he didn't think it was anything to get worked up over. In fairness, now that her life was no longer endangered, the man must have other patients that needed him more urgently.

"She's probably just in shock. Should come out of it eventually," he said, leaving to see to the other residents of the hospital.

The last thing Lehrgen needed was for Degurechaff to be even crazier than she used to be. He'd thought her insane before, but that was a more controlled sort of insanity than whatever this was. He wanted to give her the news and get this ordeal over with.

"Lieutenant Colonel," he said, tapping her shoulder lightly. He didn't want to shake her and risk reopening wounds.

"Degurechaff," he sighed, when she didn't give any indication she'd heard him.

"Hey," he tried, snapping in front of her face. Still nothing.

"Tanya," he said finally, pushing gently at her forehead to tilt it up and try to make her look him in the eye. "You in there?"

His arm was suddenly gripped with a bruising force, but her eyes flicked up to his and he could see she was back to full awareness. For a second she looked desperately afraid, and he wasn't sure what he should make of it. He'd never seen her scared before, and this was closer to full-blown panic. Before he could ask, it had morphed into a manic sort of rage, her small form radiating killing intent.

"What was I just doing?" she croaked, voice scratchy.

"I think you were praying," he said, and her hands came off his arm to grasp her rosary. It almost looked like she was fighting with herself, but after a few seconds she tugged if off, scattering some of the beads, and threw it as far as she could.

Maybe he'd talk to her another time. She looked like she wanted to commit a very bloody murder right now. If she'd lost the control she normally kept over that side of her, there was no telling who might become a victim. Plus, if her head was so addled that her short-term memory wasn't working properly, it would do no good to tell her anything.

He made to leave but she cleared her throat. "Apologies, sir."

He turned around but kept a healthy distance between them, then shook his head at what she'd said. "It's a lot to take in," he commented. "That wasn't the worst reaction I've seen by far."

"What happened?"

"What's the last thing you remember?"

"Lieutenant Grantz was…"

"Killed in the line of duty," he confirmed, raising an eyebrow. If that was her last memory, she had almost no recollection of the battle.

Her eyes had lowered upon hearing the news. Lehrgen had heard the man had saved her. It seemed even she could feel something about that.

"Lieutenant Serebryakov was captured, but is alive, as far as we know."

"Dammit," she said lowly, clenching a fist.

"There was a mage from the Commonwealth's battalion who was, by all accounts from your men, impossible to kill," he continued.

"Was?"

"You did it," he told her, "but not easily."

"And the march on Kyev?"

"Slow. Too slow to do much damage, thanks to your efforts. I expect the doctor will tell us soon how long your recovery will take, but I doubt you'll be called to fight again for another month or two."

"I'll be missing out on some of the bloodbath, then?"

"Yes, though I wouldn't call it that just yet," Lehrgen replied.

She looked down, biting her lip like she was trying to control her expression into something other than disappointment.

He gave her a minute to process things before he continued. If she couldn't recall most of the details of her last battle then there was no way her mind could be working at its usual capacity. And besides, this was little more than a personal aside.

He knew he owed her an apology. What he'd said to her had been mean-spirited. He'd been stressed, had let it get the better of him, but it wasn't an excuse to snap at her so rudely, even if there was truth to what he'd said. It wasn't her fault she didn't have a family. They'd abandoned her, not the other way around.

He should never have let personal matters occupy him in the first place. He was far from the only one who'd been distracted, but he liked to think he held himself to higher standards than most.

"Degurechaff, I-,"

"Colonel," he was interrupted, his adjutant ducking his head in. "Headquarters for you."

He bade her goodbye with a salute, which she returned, for the first time in his memory, imperfectly.

Ernst kept glancing over at him as they walked to the busiest part of camp, the part where the communications equipment was centralized. That wasn't a good sign. It meant he knew something, and that the something was expected to garner a reaction out of Lehrgen once he was updated.

"Have you heard the news?" General von Rudersdorf asked, once he'd picked up the phone.

"Nothing since last night."

"You sitting down?"

"Yes," he replied, swallowing against a lump of anxiety in his throat.

"We successfully sank a Commonwealth ocean liner carrying a good deal of ammunition yesterday evening."

Lehrgen fought against an inopportune laugh, wondering if his boss had asked him to sit down because of how shocking it was to hear that a submarine had actually managed to hit something. The Empire had the finest submarines in the world when it came to their maximum depth, their sturdy construction, their maneuverability. And yet somehow, their most critical component – their torpedoes – were so unreliable that the boats were little more than fancy diving compartments.

"It was largely a passenger ship," Rudersdorf continued, with a sigh. "It was flying the Commonwealth flag and carrying war materials, it was a legitimate target, but there were close to two thousand civilians."

Lehrgen almost wished he hadn't been sitting down. At least then there'd be a chair he could drop into. It would be a more satisfying response to the thought that their island neighbor was going to finally commit themselves to the war in more than a support capacity than rubbing at his forehead.

"The Commonwealth can't field a large army," he said, taking a reassuring breath. "At least not quickly. If we can take Stalyngrad we can put a halt to any further offensives in the east. The Federation will run out of steam on its own without a good industrial base. We could pivot the rest of the men westward again if the Commonwealth comes across the channel."

"That's what the politicians are hoping we'll be capable of," Rudersdorf replied. "But it might not be the Commonwealth we're facing."

"Sir?"

"Oh, the whole population of Albion is up in arms about it of course, but it's caused some considerable infighting. Enough to delay any sort of resolution. The opposition party already came out with an editorial on how the party in power got their country involved in a war that has nothing to do with them. It's the Americans that will cause more trouble. Only about two hundred of them on the ship, but to the general public it was an act of war."

Lehrgen's shoulders slumped downwards so he could rest his elbows on the table in front of him. The Americans might not be famed as one of the world's more professional armies, but they could call upon a substantial amount of money and manpower. So far, the politicians arguing in favor of joining the war to protect their financial interests had been held at bay by those that argued against giving any assistance to a communist regime. But if public opinion had swayed sharply in one direction, there would be a declaration of war within the week.

"Sir, please tell me our government is getting ready to start peace talks."

"No," Rudersdorf sighed. "It's too late now. The other side is too sure they'll win. At this point, our best option is to fight. If we win Stalyngrad and send those men west, we can give the other armies more than just a bloody nose. It might convince them that pressing forward will cost too much, and they'll give us a better deal than unconditional surrender. As long as the politicians in the States and the Commonwealth can go back claiming they won, that may be enough for them."

Lehrgen made a noncommittal noise of displeasure to that. A week ago. Just a week ago, if they'd initiated peace talks, the Empire might have come out of this fight largely unscathed. With little to show for the years of economic hardship and millions of deaths, perhaps, but no worse off than any of the other countries involved.

"Well, onto happier subjects, I hear congratulations are in order," Rudersdorf chuckled. "If you hadn't sent the 203rd on your own discretion, the enemy mages might have overwhelmed a lesser battalion and cut a path to Kyev for their army."

"I'm not sure that matters much anymore, sir."

"Better than the alternative."

_I think I'll be hearing more of that phrase than I want to over the next few months, _Lehrgen sighed, hanging up the phone. Barring some sort of miracle, a good alternative outcome was no longer in the cards. All they could do was try to minimize how much they'd lose.

xXx

For Tanya von Degurechaff, the worst part of being confined to a hospital cot was that she had no way to vent her frustration. There were too many injuries to make rolling over, standing up and pacing, or even banging her fists a good idea. She couldn't even scratch at the burning, itching sensation that arose from wounds healing unnaturally quickly.

It was no fun playing in a rigged game. She couldn't prove it, but anyone who could withstand the firepower of the Type 95 long enough to retaliate in force had to have supernatural assistance. If the numerous bandages and full-body ache were anything to go by, she'd been dealt her fair share of blows before she'd killed her opponent. It was likely only due to the other girl's inexperience that Tanya had been the one to survive the encounter.

It annoyed her a bit that she'd become so used to thinking of herself as Tanya that hearing the name had snapped her out of it, but being Tanya was better than the alternative, which was some form of mental enslavement to her mortal enemy. Obviously, he'd meant to push her over the edge with this latest stunt of his.

What sort of weird complex did Being X have if he kept giving teenaged girls deadly weapons? She was starting to think there might have been more truth to the supernatural parts of the Joan of Arc legend than she'd originally thought. Shouldn't something claiming to be God have better things to do?

She took a breath and ran her hands through her hair, some of it still matted with blood. She took a moment to give a thank you to Grantz. Other humans were infinitely more reliable saviors than supernatural entities.

She'd always been prepared to use her subordinates as human shields when it came down to it. Still, it didn't feel good to see a promising subordinate's life snuffed out. _Well, if one of us had to die, it definitely shouldn't have been me, but if I was allowed to live my life free of interference, no one would have needed to die, _she thought, looking around the nearby beds to see if she recognized any faces.

Hopefully prisoners of war would be exchanged efficiently and as soon as possible. Serebryakov should be relatively safe. The only issue was that her family had fled the Communists, so they might take particularly unkindly to her fighting under the enemy flag. But she was a charming woman, so even communists probably weren't evil enough to hurt her. If necessary, she could always play the card of begging for understanding, since she'd been forcefully conscripted.

Tanya's thoughts returned to her own predicament. If the Imperial Army's strength was beginning to falter, her most immediate problem was whether it was safe to use the Type 95 at all for the next few months. Without it, she might end up as a casualty statistic regardless of the war's outcome, but with it, she might survive in name only. If she'd known she was going to be facing such danger flying north, she wouldn't have gone in the first place.

_Although, maybe it was for the best, _she thought. That enemy mage would have found her again eventually. It was best to nip problems like that in the bud. Plus, this way she wouldn't have to worry about being called up again for a few weeks. If she'd faced the same battle after weeks of fighting above Stalyngrad, exhaustion might have been the death of her.

Anyway, assuming she survived the end of the war with her mind intact, she'd have no time to spend worrying about other people. Her only concern could be over the future of her employment situation should the war end in a loss. If her original history lessons were any guide, she could be expecting food shortages, runaway inflation, and widespread joblessness.

Her only advantage was her youth. She would still eligible to return to the orphanage for a few years. It would give her a bed to sleep in and enough food to subsist on while she planned her next move.

With nothing more productive to think about, Tanya's mind turned to letting loose every curse she knew in every language she knew at Being X, eventually settling into what she still considered her native tongue. She'd be damned if she let herself get out of practice and gave that devil cause to think she'd given up.

xXx

There wasn't a single soldier in the entire camp who looked well-rested. The dark circles ranged from mild to severe, but no one was without them. Before the supply of sleeping pills ran out, stocking up on them would be smart. Lehrgen didn't like having to rely on them, but until some organization and routine returned to his life, they were a necessary evil.

The sun had been below the horizon for a few hours by the time he had a free moment to stand up, stretch, and go in search of the field hospital's stock of pharmaceuticals.

He was given a week's supply. Either the inventory was lower than he'd thought, or the doctor was an optimistic man. He'd bet on the former. And while he was there, he might as well visit his subordinate again, clear his conscience with a sincere apology for his unprofessional behavior, and then tell her the news that Rudersdorf had relayed to him.

By the time Lehrgen was close enough to make out that Degurechaff was asleep, he could hear her mumbling something to herself.

Waking her up might have been the kinder thing to do, but he didn't want to know what gave the girl who'd occasionally haunted his bad dreams nightmares of her own, so he turned around to leave, but stopped when his mind registered that what she was saying sounded less like mumbles and more like distinct words. Just not in any language he'd ever heard. He froze for a second, terror that he knew to be irrational sending ice coursing through his veins.

_She's been called the Devil of the Rhine. I've called her a monster myself. She's been called a demon repeatedly, sometimes as praise. But is she actually possessed? Is she speaking in tongues? Was the rosary she ripped off more than a decoration? Do I need to call someone to perform an exorcism? _he wondered, theories that grew stranger by the second popping into his head.

He shook himself. It was surely just gibberish. Well-pronounced gibberish, but meaningless all the same. Still, he carefully backed out of the room, half-afraid that her eyes would fly open and it would be something other than her that stared out through them.

Luckily, she could only haunt him for so much longer. The next day, he was summoned back to Berun, presumably so that he could give advice on how to lose a war as gracefully as possible.


	12. The Uncanny Valley

.

**June 6, 1928  
Outside Parisee, Imperial Francia**

With something approaching a spring in his step, Colonel Erich von Lehrgen barely avoided hopping down from the train onto the platform and twirling his briefcase like some sort of oversized child. It wouldn't do to have anyone think he was happy with the way things were going.

Objectively, there was nothing to be happy over, and wouldn't be for months, perhaps years. Stalyngrad had turned into exactly the bloodbath that Degurechaff had predicted. There'd been no way to send enough men west to give the Americans the greeting they deserved. The Imperial Army's only saving grace over the past few months had been that their newest enemy was inexperienced when it came to modern warfare. The Empire had invented it.

The peace talks that should have been held a year ago were finally here, courtesy of the Imperial Army's last battle, which had convinced their enemies that further bloodletting was in no one's best interest, that the march to Berun would be littered with too many bodies to make it worth forcing a total surrender.

No matter what might come of the talks – no matter how unfair, how punitive, how unnecessarily harsh to a country that had done nothing but defend itself – he could complain about that later. For today, it was hard not to feel optimistic that at least it was all over. Even if the starting point was bad, it would be a point from which to work, a guaranteed end to that special sort of misery borne from uncertainty.

Of course, there would be no way to escape some territorial losses, the way they might have had they made peace this time last year. But the concessions the Empire's delegation was proposing, of pieces carved out from already-disputed locales and a partial disarmament to bring the Imperial Army's size more in line with those of their neighbors, wouldn't spell the end of Imperial power. It should just be enough to reassure the other countries that the Empire wouldn't dominate the continent by default.

As he made his way from the small train station near the eerily quiet front and through a half-demolished village, Lehrgen spotted a bar still in operation. Though it conspicuously lacked a roof and a section of its southeastern wall, the sturdy stone structure largely stood as it likely had for the past two hundred or years or more. Happy, sad, or bored, soldiers would always want to drink, so it wasn't unusual to find an impromptu beer hall anywhere with a garrison, no matter the level of destruction.

He let his feet take him towards the daytime carousing. The men smartened up once he got close enough that they could determine his rank, then relaxed again at his gesture. An officer of his rank wasn't supposed to huddle with enlisted men over drinks, but today wasn't a day for strict observance of protocol.

All Lehrgen was looking for was an excuse to delay completing the assignment he'd been sent there for. A slowly-savored beer to extend the good mood he was enjoying for the first time in too many months before he had to speak with someone who would never find anything positive to say about the end of a war.

It wasn't that he didn't consider himself a patriotic man. In a certain way, he'd say he was more so than Degurechaff even. What he wanted was what was best for the Empire, and that meant a stable, politically powerful country well-defended by their army. It didn't mean they needed to extend their borders to the ends of the Earth no matter the cost.

He was handed a beer which would've been bad even were it not warm, but he didn't mind particularly. It would make it easy not to drink too fast.

Taking the glass away from the counter, Lehrgen settled into a stool at his own table, idly observing the street outside through the mortar wound in the wall.

"Sir?" he heard from behind him a few minutes later. He turned his head slightly to indicate he was listening.

"What are we going to do now?"

_I'm not your father, _he wanted to say, but when he spun around to look at the group of faces waiting expectantly for an answer, none a day over seventeen, an unpleasant thought occurred to him: in a different world, he might have been.

The years of war had dragged on interminably as they'd gone by, but in a certain way, it felt like time had paused, only to be resumed now. He'd read no books for pleasure, taken up no new hobbies, gone on no holidays, begun no relationships – friendly or otherwise – only to have them end because he worked too much, successive birthdays had been barely acknowledged. It made his memories into a dense jumble not easily parsed into distinct weeks or months or years, so the fact that he was no longer of an age with the older brothers of new recruits had largely escaped him.

"Learn a trade," Lehrgen said, groping for an answer. His friends who knew a thing or two about banking had confided that even winning the war wouldn't make the adjustment back to a normal economy easy, but these boys couldn't do much with advice like _buy real assets._

"People always need food," one of the soldiers shrugged. "Farms and grocers should be safe enough."

Lehrgen shook his head. "People without money can't spend it," he replied. "Even on necessities. Better off making yourself useful to people who won't fall on hard times. The market for luxury goods is smaller, but it's always there."

"I don't s'pose it's something you have to worry about," one of the others commented.

Lehrgen shook his head again and then stood, tossing enough money onto the table to cover a second round for anyone who needed their nerves soothed.

"Good luck with it," he said as he departed, in search of someone whose own irresponsible parents had left their bundle of terror for the rest of them to deal with.

It was a different hospital and a different front, but he'd be making a bedside visit to Lieutenant Colonel von Degurechaff again. This time in the full light of day, so she wouldn't give him any more scares.

To his relief, she was napping when he approached. He'd been sent to take her Type 95 away for safekeeping before anyone unfriendly learned there was a quad-core orb floating around. It was cowardly to swipe it from her bedside table while she slept, but it would look even worse if he got into a game of tug-of-war with her. Especially because he'd lose it.

He picked up the orb and pocketed it, then backed up a few paces from her bed and cleared his throat.

"Sir?" she asked sleepily.

"We may need to account for all our armaments soon, you understand," he began, once she'd sat up.

She nodded.

"It would be a disaster if another nation got their hands on quad-core technology and copied it."

She nodded again, this time with patriotic vigor, then winced like she'd moved her head too much.

"If anyone ever asks, you lost the Type 95 during the battle near Kyev."

Her eyes went to her table. He fished the orb out of his pocket and showed it to her. "I had the doctor pick it up for me earlier," he lied.

"You're taking it away from me?" she gasped.

This reaction had been exactly what he was afraid of. That her strict obedience to orders would come in conflict with a desire to cause harm, and she'd refuse to relinquish the device.

Her gaze had fixed itself on the orb, staring at it with unnatural focus.

"It will be going into a vault," he affirmed.

"Just like that?" she breathed, like she couldn't believe her ears. "Just like that, it'll be gone?"

Her breaths started coming shallow, like she was so angered by the thought she was having trouble controlling it. Wordlessly, Lehrgen gave her a single nod of confirmation, then left before she could make any rash decisions.

He wanted to return to the capital with it as soon as possible, before the chaos calmed down and orderly searches for travelers with illicit goods began. Or, more exactly, he wanted to send the item that gave Degurechaff so much power to the other side of the world. Better yet, the bottom of the ocean. But he'd be relieved of his job if he did anything of the sort, so for now, he'd be satisfied with a heavily-padlocked container.

**June 30, 1928  
City Palace, Imperial Capital Berun**

Tanya von Degurechaff - soon to be just Tanya Degurechaff again, a result of an overzealous enemy striking of any titles the Army had bestowed during the war - had never seen the need for an extravagant home. A steady income that paid for a well-appointed apartment was all she'd ever asked for.

Regardless, it had taken most of her focus not to turn her head and crane her neck to get a better view of the corridor she'd walked through a few minutes ago, the only part of the former royal palace she'd get to see besides the vast reception hall she stood in now.

Shoulder-to-shoulder with her fellow officers, though in the interest of accuracy, it might be more precise to say shoulder-to-waist, she patiently waited for the conclusion of the somber ceremony for which they were gathered. A state funeral honoring the war dead wasn't high on her list of places to be, but at least she wasn't among the honorees.

_Like this well-fed clergyman knows anything about real sacrifice, _Tanya scoffed to herself, listening to the pastor droning on about the subject. For his job, he'd been required to sacrifice the rational part of his brain, but that could be his only familiarity with the topic.

She looked down so no one saw her roll her eyes, then tugged self-consciously at a too-short sleeve. A growth spurt had decided to sneak up on her at the worst moment possible. Financial security not guaranteed and she wouldn't be receiving another uniform. Hopefully ever.

She looked back up and let her eyes wander around to the other attendees in her row. For an Imperial officer, keeping a stony face was the norm. Crying at a funeral wasn't remarkable in and of itself, but she hadn't expected to see such open displays of grief. After so many years of bad news, these weren't men who teared up for no reason.

_Is it going to be a problem if I don't cry? _she wondered with exasperation. It might seem like she wasn't appropriately upset at the loss of life. It would be strange for a fourteen-year-old girl not to cry at something that had many older gentlemen in tears.

She wouldn't want anyone to think she hadn't tried her best in her final battles because she didn't care enough. At a time like this, everyone was looking for someone to blame. Becoming a pariah just to preserve a little dignity wasn't a smart trade to make.

The real issue was how to make herself cry. The art of fake tears wasn't one she was familiar with. A high-performing employee had no need to make emotional appeals for mercy when review season came around.

And if she couldn't fake them, they'd have to be real. This was one place her new body was at a natural advantage. Under certain circumstances, letting her physical age get the better of her could be a useful tool.

Thinking about it, she had plenty of reasons to be upset. Her livelihood had been ripped away. Her future was uncertain. To top it all off, some of the people she'd poured countless hours into were gone. What a waste. And an absolute tragedy.

_There they are, _she thought with satisfaction, when she felt the sting in her eyes. If she could just let a few slip out, this charade could end. Once everyone saw that she wept over the fallen, there would be no inconvenient questions.

_…I'll admit that it feels a bit cathartic_, Tanya sighed, trying to tug her sleeve down again. Crying was biologically designed to alleviate stress, after all. Before she wiped her face, she should make sure people saw the tears. It would be terrible to have embarrassed herself for no reason.

She turned her head slightly, letting people see the wet trails glistening on her face. Everyone who made eye contact tried to give her comforting smiles back, except for Colonel von Lehrgen. He looked at her with such shock it was as though he'd witnessed her eating a formal dinner with nothing but her hands.

How uncomfortable. Even if he was kind at heart, he had a stiff exterior. The fact that she was incapable of maintaining the same might have taken her down a notch. It was possible he was wondering what happened to his reliable junior officer now that he'd seen her tearful face.

Most of the people there with her had probably lost more than brothers-in-arms. They might have lost childhood friends or family members. She'd failed to consider that it could come off as a little pathetic that she'd cry over losing a few subordinates.

Of course, she had experienced a major loss before. But that was almost fifteen years ago now, and anyway, she never saw the point in crying over it. It wasn't as though Being X was going to send her back if she started fussing. She'd admit she felt bad about it occasionally. Her parents had both been living, so they would have had to deal with anything she'd left behind. She didn't think she'd had many loose ends, so hopefully they hadn't been too inconvenienced by her unexpected departure.

As for that degenerate who'd murdered her, she expected he was feeling some regrets after being sentenced to life in prison. If she'd known he was so lazy that he couldn't even be bothered to commit homicide somewhere that wasn't under 24-hour surveillance, she'd have fired him much sooner.

Finished with her reflective mood, Tanya wiped her face off and returned her attention to the service. She would have rather done it more privately, but she owed Grantz a final goodbye.

**July 11, 1928  
Detskoe Selo, Outside Lenangrad, Rus Federation**

_Our tea is better, _John Kanes sniffed to himself with a petty harrumph, putting the cup back down after a taste. _And so are our palaces._

With Parisee still in too much turmoil to host an international delegation, the Federation had insisted. And so here he must be, in this godforsaken city filled with more mosquitoes than there were people in the world. His aunt had called to ask if he'd caught the pox after seeing his photo in the papers.

Besides being uncompromising on location, the Federation also vociferously insisted that if anyone was responsible for winning the war, it was them. They'd committed their land, their people, and their economy fully, unlike the Commonwealth or the States, and had actually managed to win battles against the Imperial Army, unlike the Republic or the trio of lesser powers in attendance. They wanted all the credit just for doing their part.

_You people are all impossible, _Kanes wanted to shout to the men sitting around the table with him.

He'd never asked to represent the Commonwealth. He'd been chosen by virtue of handing in the only halfway reasonable economic proposal for Europa's future. If this is what he got for honest, hard work, he'd have to start putting in no more than fifteen hours a week so such a thing could never happen to him again.

"We must have reparations!" his Republican counterpart shouted for the thirty-seventh time. Kanes had been keeping count.

"You might have considered that before invading a larger power without gathering a coalition," the American delegate sneered.

"Our people demand justice!"

"Then perhaps another revolution is in order," Kanes sighed, breaking his silence. "You do love them so. Keep the museums guarded or the guillotines might be broken out again to deal with poor leadership."

An uneasy alliance had formed between most of the nations that shared a border with the Empire, intent on dismantling it back into principalities, impoverishing all of them, and leaving them completely incapable of defending themselves. Dacia was the only one who ever sided with the more reasonable position. They were now more worried about an overpowered neighbor to their east than one to their west.

To his credit, the Federation's own ambassador appeared to be completely aware that a heavy-handed approach to the Empire's fate would disturb any balance of power that might result from Europa's first comprehensive treaty in a hundred years, and turn hateful eyes towards the monstrously large communist nation. And yet, the poor man was hamstrung by his own leader, who wouldn't suffer a relatively intact Imperial state to his west for reasons nobody could give a good explanation for.

Kanes couldn't exactly blame Mr. Malyukov for throwing logic out the window in favor of obedience. Word was that good old Secretary Josef had executed the very man responsible for leading the Federation's Army into some semblance of professionalism, success making him too popular of a figure for the dictator to tolerate.

"The Empire is a massive economy. If we force it into collapse it could very well take the rest of us down with it," Kanes explained for the seventh time, with a patience he didn't really feel, as he pulled a piece of paper from his folio. "I've presented you with a fair assessment of their ability to pay."

This argument could have ended long ago if the Americans had committed formally to an Anglo coalition. But they were still set on being touchy about the mages who'd been killed. They'd leant their Legadonian refugees as a support force and the Commonwealth had used them as first-line soldiers.

_I understand the anger, _Kanes sighed to himself, rubbing his temples, _but is it really worth fouling up the negotiations over?_

Well, there was always the possibility it was his own fault. Maybe the American diplomats were still angry because Kanes had laughed when they'd brought up some idea they'd called the League of Nations. He'd tried to mollify them by saying it was excellent in theory, as a goal five or ten years from now, but feelings may have already been hurt. Really, though, did the Americans not understand the situation?

Everyone disliked the Entente for having pulled some stupid political stunt that had brought them all here. The time for calling up a "League of Nations" would have been once it became clear that the Empire would win handily against their northern neighbor. Instead, the Republic had repeated the mistake of getting themselves in over their heads, forcing all the rest of them to scramble for a response.

The Dacians blamed the Republic for leading them into a war they were in no way prepared for. The Republic was still angry that neither the Americans nor the Commonwealth had come to their aid before their country was occupied. On principle, nobody wanted to ally more closely with the Federation than necessary. Even the Ildoans had managed to join the community of mutual dislike after they'd promised their services to first one side then the other, only joining the war when it was too late to be of use to anyone in hopes of getting some territory.

_Tell me, how do you expect us to form a league out of people who are only here because for the moment they dislike the Empire slightly more than they dislike each other? _Kanes wondered, glancing up at Mr. Kellog, the lead negotiator for the States.

The root of the problem was that the Americans weren't invested enough in Europa's affairs to care about maintaining a delicate balance. They wanted peace among their trading partners, their loans repaid, and a few punishments imposed on the Empire so the political class could tout the victory come next election.

In essence, the Commonwealth wanted the same, aside from the fact that a balanced Europa was more imperative for the island nation. They'd joined the war to prevent the Empire from dominating the continent. They couldn't agree to a peace that would do nothing aside from give the Republic or the Federation the chance to do the same.

_Though, neither of them is in any position to do so either, _Kanes reasoned, reconsidering where he might have some room to move towards the demands of the other powers. The Republic would need years to recover and the Federation had turned right around and resumed the same ill-considered farm collectivization effort they'd been pursuing before jumping into the war. They were little threat to anyone for now.

_Better to come to a provisional agreement sooner, _Kanes decided. Uncertainty was never good for an economy, and none of the continental powers had good ones at the moment. The Commonwealth needed more trading partners than just the Americans. Once heads had cooled in a year or two they could revisit some of the more unnecessary items.

Enlarging Legadonia and Dacia would shift power around more equitably. And a buffer state between the Empire and the Federation wasn't a bad idea if they didn't want the communists preying on a weakened neighbor. After allowing some time for the Empire to move its factories, a western buffer could be made from the Lowlands, and one that would be a good trading partner for the Commonwealth.

An economic disaster made by reparations would take years to haul themselves out from, but a too-strict disarmament could be turned around as soon as relations improved and it became clear how unstable it made the continent. _Break the Empire in half instead of in pieces and I think everyone will sign on, _Kanes thought, nodding to himself.

With that, he clapped his hands audibly to get attention.

"Gentlemen," he said, lighting a cigar. "We've made the same arguments back and forth for a month. It's time to work something out."

**September 7, 1928  
Schlesischer Bahnhof, Imperial Capital Berun**

The summer of 1928 was the warmest one yet on record for the century. Even twenty minutes before sunrise, the air wasn't the least bit cool. Not even a light jacket was necessary, especially not over the layers of a uniform.

Erich von Lehrgen, who wasn't sure whether he was a colonel anymore despite the rank insignia he wore, checked his watch ten minutes past the hour. He'd heard the train schedules had become more erratic, but if even the day's first train was late, the breakdown in order was more serious than he'd realized.

Another ten minutes passed as passengers grouped on the platform, staring curiously down the tracks every few seconds.

The delay in pulling away from the station was a perfect prelude to a journey that was no longer an uninterrupted ride. The train stopped at the new border in Kreuze three hours in. Technically, he was entering the independent nation of Polaska, but because the communist rebels had technically occupied the government buildings of Warsau when the war ended, the Federation had managed to make sure the new country was run by the party, and they took their orders from Moskva.

Lehrgen thought he answered a hundred questions between the two men tasked with inspecting the train. He finally gave up and handed over a hefty bribe, which caused an immediate change in attitude.

Five hours later, the train crossed the border back into Imperial territory. The area immediately surrounding Konigsberg had been a bastion of royal support and hadn't turned over to the communists when the opportunity presented itself to join a new nation. Thank God for small mercies.

Even still, the city was beautiful. Not a single mortar had touched it throughout the duration of the war. There was a gloomy pall at odds with the spring weather, but if one avoided eye contact with the residents one could pretend the Empire was still in one piece.

Lehrgen made himself stop the demoralizing thoughts. He shouldn't let personal tragedy cast too large a shadow over everything.

The terms of the armistice had been harsher than anyone expected, but he knew it could have been worse for the Empire. Or, the North Germanian Empire, if he wanted to be technical. The Ostrian Empire had been legislated back into existence, taking the Slovaks, Slovenes, and Croats along with them.

All conquered territory was ordered relinquished back, but that was hardly an imposition. Trying to administer it would have been a nightmare. Imperial Norden and Dacia were to be ceded back to the Entente and Grand Duchy respectively. Those were harder losses to stomach, but they had never been integrated fully into the core territory, so the separation wasn't terribly painful. Losing Polaska had been the most difficult, especially for his peers, but better to have Polaska carved out to their east than the industrial lands in the west.

Their modest colonial holdings below the Sahara Desert had been turned over to the Commonwealth in recognition of their assistance to the Federation. Combined with the other nation's established colonies the territory might be valuable, but for the Empire they had been little more than trophies. In the main, they'd often been a losing investment.

The other countries had taken great pleasure in dismantling the Imperial nobility and the Army, but only modest reparations payments had been demanded, and those only for certain cases of egregious destruction. The numbers weren't unreasonable. Or at least they wouldn't be once the Imperial economy righted itself, and who knew how long that would take.

Almost hilariously, the Federation looked, to the outside observer, to be punishing itself for helping to win the war. Apparently there had been some disagreement between the Secretary General and one of the government ministers. The Secretary, known for his boundless paranoia, had executed not only the minister in question but a number of the officers who he felt were more loyal to the other man. At this point, the Imperial military might be in less disarray than the Soviet one.

So really, Lehrgen reminded himself, he was not in a position to complain. His parents hadn't been all so young anyhow. Both of them had been in good health, but he had plenty of friends whose own had already passed of natural causes. They'd been visiting friends in another city when the Polaskan communists had begun a riot. He'd warned them to keep close to home, but his father never had believed that there were people in their country who, deep down, didn't want to be part of their Empire. It had made him careless.

When he arrived to the old estate for what would be the last time, he didn't mind when his niece and nephew jumped on him or when the newest addition to the family gave an ear-splitting wail right next to his head. The children were especially excitable because they were moving, and to the Unified States of all places. They wanted to tell him all about the boats they were going to ride and the place they were going to live and the cities they were going to see.

Lehrgen's sister-in-law had some cousins who had immigrated years past. That and money had eased the process of immigrating significantly when his brother had decided he saw a brighter future in the States than in the Empire. Erich privately agreed, but his duties bound him to Berun, at least for now.

By rights, the inheritance should largely have passed to the elder of the two von Lehrgen brothers, but the progressive provisional government which had taken power in the final days of the war had abolished the entailments laws that had stipulated that rule. Otto had generously agreed to split the value of the estate in half. Not that theirs was anything special. It wasn't one of the vast holdings that were common a bit further to the west, like in Pommerin where his somewhat distant cousins lived on the larger and wealthier plot of land that belonged to the older branch of the family. Theirs was just a later acquisition by some reactionary great-grandfather who'd liked the idea of owning land in old Preussland, and who was likely now turning in his grave over its sale.

Personally, Lehrgen couldn't have cared less. He had no desire to take up managing the property, and in any case most of the eastern estates were somewhat indebted, some of them quite deeply. The only reason theirs hadn't been was that his father had done everyone the favor of marrying the non-noble but wealthy daughter of an industrialist from Dortemund, but that money wouldn't last forever if it was continuously sunk into unproductive agricultural ventures. As far as he was concerned, his ancestor's decision to buy the land was good more for the fact that it happened to abut the Dohnoff estate than for financial reasons. The _Grafin _Marian wasn't so much older than him, and being able to count a true aristocrat among his close friends was a privilege he did his best not to abuse.

The sale itself had gone very well. The dispossessed landowners who still had healthy finances were clamoring for another piece of property, so had bid up the price exorbitantly above what the fair value ought to have been. That nearly compensated for the fact that he had to buy out the other half of their home in Lichterfeld so he could continue living in it.

Now, all that was left was to give a final sendoff to his childhood home and Otto's family. After a last walk through the empty house, it was time to see them off and onto their ship.

"Come visit," Otto said, with a firm handshake.

"Eventually," Lehrgen promised. There were likely many years ahead of him before he would have the leisure to take a tour of the States.

"Dear," his sister-in-law cut in, throwing off her usual proper demeanor for a hug, "sometimes I do think you barely know your own brother."

She pulled back to look at him. "Write," she said, commandingly. "And often."

"That I can guarantee," he said with a smile.

Lehrgen waved them off, watched the ship depart, then took the next train back to what was now, officially, his home.

* * *

_A/N Tanya: cries like 5 tears for political correctness; Lehrgen: I hope I remember to cross the robot theory off the list when I get home tonight_

_Families do inconvenient things like object to your dumbass future marriage, so they had to go. Also, Tanya doesn't want a husband living on dad's allowance._

_Just FYI I'm keeping the term "Empire" because real life Germany kept the name Deutsches Reich, and I can't find a great alternative English translation. If someone wants to recommend one I'm happy to consider._


	13. Getting paid is her forte

.

**October 28, 1929  
St. Mary's Children's Home, Karew, Imperial Capital Berun**

On Sundays, she had to wake up early.

Waking up early wasn't the issue. Most mornings, the soft rustle of her roommate getting out of bed roused her anyway. The problem lay more in opening her eyes and getting up early.

Living for free meant Tanya couldn't exercise full control over her personal life. Reason number one she wanted to be gainfully employed again as soon as possible. She'd known what she was getting herself into when she checked back into her old home, but really. She wasn't a child anymore. Her right to not attend worship deserved respect.

Getting up and dressed in time for morning prayers meant she didn't have the luxury of solitude while she changed. Neither did Erna Haas.

_Seriously?_ Tanya muttered to herself, dragging her gaze away forcefully. _This again?_

There was no point in denying it - she was hitting a dangerous age. In truth, it was far from the first time this had happened. The other instances she could chalk up to being under stress. Her mind had been eager to jump on anything that distracted her from the war, and her unlucky tentmate on the front had the misfortune of being very distracting.

There really was nothing ruder than violating someone's right to privacy, so she'd done her best to make sure her adjutant never suspected a thing. Tanya was sure the other woman would have reacted with the same horror she did that time she'd caught Grantz ogling her. Unlike Tanya, Visha was a proper lady once she was off the battlefield. She could even tell you the correct seating arrangement for a formal luncheon. A person like that wasn't going to have a positive outlook on anything that violated social norms. Nothing was worth fracturing a good working relationship over.

Erna would be at least as offended as Visha. Thankfully, the urge to let her eyes wander was a less frequent occurrence now than it had been during the end of the war. Erna had known her for longer, but that wouldn't count for much. She'd been one of Tanya's first cordial relationships in the orphanage during her childhood; the older girl had always kept her eye out for anyone trying to bully her. Ruining something like that would be pure stupidity. Erna had taken her vows to become one of the nuns a few months ago, so there was no question that her take on the subject of human desire was that it shouldn't exist. If Tanya gave her any inkling of her thoughts, she'd be booted back to the common dormitory and have to go through an intervention.

If she wanted to risk being banished from her only home, she could tell the truth. No amount of intervening would change anything. If the nuns wanted to blame anyone, they could talk to that God they prayed to. You couldn't just unlearn years of going through life as a man.

"Sorry," Erna said quietly, jogging Tanya away from her thoughts. "I know I promised to get you a new pair of clothes if I could."

What a relief. She'd been caught staring, but Erna's pure mind had jumped to another conclusion if she'd mistaken Tanya's frown for anger that she hadn't lived up to her word. Growing up, the orphanage had a decent amount of patronage, but nobody cared about soldiers' orphans after losing a war. She could have taken a hand-me-down dress once she'd completely grown out of her last uniform, but so far, that hadn't been necessary. The only real issue was the boys got first pick over pants and shirts. Tanya only got the leftovers.

After an hour spent blocking out any religious messages and a few hours picking the last of the season's crops from the small plot of land surrounding the orphanage, her afternoon was her own.

The village of Karew, which had been incorporated into Berun proper a few months ago when the city limits expanded, wasn't what she would call a happening place. In terms of its distance from the central city, it was roughly equivalent to where she'd originally grown up in Setagaya. But comparing the density of modern Tokyo to post-war Berun was deceptive.

Karew had never even heard of a neighborhood planning commission. Basically, it was a disorganized group of settlements assigned an optimistically unified name. And the orphanage wasn't anywhere close to what might be called the town center.

Even though it was a long walk, Tanya went to retrieve a Sunday paper from the nearest shop. Knowledge was the most precious resource of all. Plus, more exercise was never a bad thing. Teenagers had plenty of excess energy, and the faster she fell asleep, the less time her mind would have to land on subjects it was best kept away from.

It was no surprise that more than one front page article was devoted to the armistice. Honestly, hadn't anyone learned a lesson about those? Even without her innate suspicion of the term, the way the Republic had violated theirs should have clued everyone else in that they were worthless. She'd heard that phrase about history repeating itself, but she never expected it to be so literal.

The left-leaning party in power definitely wouldn't be getting her vote in a few years, but they had one noble position - the war should have ended long before it did. Tanya had let herself fall prey to false hope that many of her fellow citizens felt the same way, but six months after the war finished, she'd needed to revise that position. The same people who'd so joyously celebrated the end of the war wanted to pretend they'd never said that, and complain about how everything wrong in the Empire was the fault of foreign powers.

In some sense, they had a point. The Empire hadn't proactively invaded anyone else. But a quick swat on the nose could have been given to any border violations without turning it into a full war. From there, the Empire could have worked with surrounding nations towards a long-term solution. And the Imperial treasury was definitely responsible for issuing all the debt they'd taken on. Anyone up in arms over the economy needed to take a look at who signed those paper certificates.

Even if the facts were a little different, the overall situation wasn't promising. A discontent German public in this era was a red flag so large it could block out the sun. She had to live in this country too. Or at least for the foreseeable future. If a second war wanted to come, it could do that after she'd lived out the rest of her life and departed peacefully from this world.

At its root, it was an issue of government interference. The military budget had been allowed to supercede sound financial decisions, and the treasury had issued debt without any regard for how it would be repaid. When hard-working people were forced into poverty, of course they looked for a scapegoat.

Well, if Tanya knew any government functionaries, she might be able to give them a suggestion or two so they could stop this before it got serious. Well-fed and productive people had no reason to turn to extremism. After the financial crisis in her old world, she'd gotten interested enough in economics to give the subject a thorough review. Ideas that were considered vanilla when she was reading them would be revolutionary today, plus, she had the benefit of remembering the vague details of previous economic fixes.

Their country needed money, and only one other country was in a position to loan them enough. No bank worth its depositors' trust would write a loan with no guarantee, so the Americans would need some real collateral. There were few enough sources of that when debt was sky-high, which meant it would have to come down to some inventive use of government goods.

Unfortunately, the political parties with realistic economic plans were the same ones that supported the war, so associating with them would only cause problems in the long run. She couldn't risk giving them political power via economic success.

_Come to think of it_, Tanya considered, turning the page and catching a headline about what was left of the Imperial Army, _General von Romel's in charge of things now. He was always willing to listen._

Someone with his title would have plenty of contacts in the treasury or at banks. _Even more importantly, he'd have plenty of contacts who'd take a hiring recommendation from him seriously_, Tanya realized, a grin tugging at her lips. The perfect solution to her lack of employment opportunity.

Hunting for well-paid work from a small suburb without the benefit of the Internet was difficult, to say the least. Had she known how difficult, she may have chosen differently in the aftermath of the war. She'd counted on some name recognition, but the Army had only ever promoted how skilled she was at fighting. They'd conveniently forgotten to mention all the academic papers she'd written.

She'd never considered herself to have a high tolerance for risk. Using her petty cash to stay in central Berun for a month or two to look for a job may have paid off, but if it hadn't, she'd now be living on the streets without a pfennig to her name. Fifteen-year-old girls who looked like they were twelve didn't make the top on anyone's hiring list even when times were good. Getting her spot in the orphanage back before they were too poor to take on new charges had been of utmost importance.

It was embarrassing it had taken her this long to realize her connections in the Army were still worthwhile. Romel might not be able to offer her a job himself, but that didn't mean he was of no value to her anymore. So long as they were at peace, working in something closely linked to the Army wouldn't be so bad, at least to get her career started. Everything besides the part where she was actually doing battle had been relatively interesting. Within the bounds of her orders she'd always been free to do as she pleased.

Nunneries had rules for every last thing. Hold hands and say a prayer before you eat. So much time allotted for a bath, and the nuns still checked behind her ears to see if they were clean. Lights off at nine, no staying up to read past bedtime. No offensive language, even when you stubbed a toe so hard you thought it broke.

For the first six months it had been bearable. She'd still been adjusting back to life off active duty. The placid lifestyle had been a perfect antidote to unwind all the pent up stress from years spent wondering if she'd live to see her next birthday. But lately, boredom was threatening to make her do something rash. Like pack up her meager belongings and march out the door with no plan for the future.

Her next course of action would have to be dropping in on her old colleagues. She couldn't discount them just because she couldn't be a soldier any longer. The only question was when.

Nobody liked a surprise meeting on a Monday, so tomorrow was out. If you were going for a good mood, Friday was best, but if you didn't want anyone distracted by the clock, Thursday was better.

That decided, Tanya gave a sigh of contentment and flopped back into her bed to finish the paper.

A few hours later, she'd read, dined, and had a quick bath, even though they were short on soap at the moment. She sunk into bed with a feeling of purpose for the first time in months.

**November 1, 1929  
General Staff Office, Imperial Capital Berun**

His watch ran fast.

It was somewhat of a personal idiosyncrasy. His old pocket watch had done the same. Probably still would if he wound it up. But it reminded him too much of a world they could never go back to, so it sat unused in a cabinet at home.

Perhaps the devices had taken pity on their wearer, and moved time forward more rapidly in an effort to help shorten the hours spent in the office. So he knew when he glanced down at his wrist that the clock face which read ten was wrong by almost a half-hour, and it wasn't yet time to take one of the short intermissions that he enforced upon himself to break up the day.

He'd been meaning to reset it back to the correct time, but even the few seconds needed to do that had escaped him for the last few months. Colonel Erich von Lehrgen had always worked hard. Brigadier General Erich von Lehrgen worked even harder, if that was at all possible.

He'd hoped that with the conclusion of the war, free time would make a reappearance in his schedule. He liked to work, but it wasn't the only thing he wanted to do with his days. That hope had been dashed as soon as he'd served a week in his new position. Managing one of the largest militaries in the world had been challenging. Trying to work within the limits now imposed on them was even more so.

An hour later he made himself put his papers down and step out for coffee. Today, he'd be going out of the office completely, not just out his own doors and down the hall.

Captain Elya Weber was already at the café when he arrived. Her orb may have been taken from her, but that made her only slightly less useful when gathering intelligence. She made her way up to Berun with some regularity, though officially she was stationed in Leibzich.

Lehrgen wanted to trust the Intelligence reports he was handed each week, but it was always better to hear it straight from someone in the know. And besides, certain reports went directly to the police and bypassed his office entirely. The file that Elya handed off to him each time they met made up for that.

"Smoke?" he asked her, once they'd both settled into chairs, knocking two cigarettes out of the pack.

"Of course," she smiled, and they both leaned their heads in for a light.

"Anything important?"

"It's all in here," Elya replied, drawing out a packet and handing it over to him.

"It will look strange if you hand me a package and then we leave, you know," Lehrgen laughed.

"Things have quieted down some," she shrugged. "Nobody likes to be out marching for their cause in the cold if they can help it. There's not much to report that you don't already know, except that your party isn't going to win the next election."

"And how would you know who I'm voting for, Captain Weber?"

"Let's see," she smiled, raising her hand to tick off points on her fingers. "From a landed family in the east, chose a career in the military-"

He opened his mouth to object, but she kept going.

"-but, you don't mind compromising and I've yet to hear you say you think we should overthrow the government to reinstate the Kaiser. If you aren't voting for the Volkspartei, I'll buy you all the cigarettes you'll smoke in the next year."

He took a gulp of his coffee in lieu of telling her that she was right.

"I do hope your boyfriend knows he shouldn't even think about getting away with something under your nose," he replied, after he'd swallowed. "Things are going well?"

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you ask me about him so often because you're hoping one day I'll say we aren't getting along," she joked.

"I ask because you'll tell me regardless, so the least I can do is be polite," he retorted.

She blushed and hummed and looked away with a guilty smile.

"I would be polite myself and ask after your life in return, but I wasn't sure if you'd want the subject to turn to a Ms. Crawley."

"That was a long time ago," he sighed, taking a deep inhale through his cigarette in relief. If that was the name she was bringing up, she hadn't necessarily been keeping particularly close tabs on his personal life. She'd just apprised herself of any possible foreign connections before she'd decided to trust him. "So long ago that she's Mrs. Pelham now."

"I heard you almost married her."

"I did."

"Why didn't you?"

"Because I was your age," he said, with a rueful laugh, stretching his legs out under the table and leaning back slightly in his chair as he made himself comfortable while he indulged in some reminiscing.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Elya asked, clearly somewhat offended by the implication that she wasn't mature enough to make serious decisions.

"That I was still young enough to believe you could have the best of all worlds," Lehrgen chuckled. It wasn't often he got to see Elya off-kilter. "I had my pick of assignments, I could have stayed in the Commonwealth if I'd cared less about my career. I figured I could take the more ambitious path and find someone else once I'd settled back here."

"Do you regret it?"

"Some days. But I'm sure if I'd chosen differently I'd give the same answer."

"Thought that a young officer rocketing up the ranks would have girls throwing themselves at him?" she joked.

"Well, you should have seen me when I was younger. Had to lock the office door to keep them out," he deadpanned.

She caught his eye and gave a sniff of laughter, then turned her head away with a shake at his attempt at humor.

"You know, you're a bit fun when someone gets you off the subject of work."

"Well on that note, I'm afraid we have to get back to it," he sighed, draining the last of his drink. "I did finally make a bit of headway on figuring out what happened to Ms. Serebryakov. The officer who took her prisoner has a good reputation. We can hope he did his best to keep her safe. Keep your chin up."

"Thanks," Elya said quietly, a sad smile replacing the boisterous laugh. She knew as well as he did that it was foolish to put too much stock in an enemy soldier caring one way or another what happened to prisoners of war once they were taken off his hands.

The twenty-minute break he gave himself was almost up, so he took his leave and headed back to the office. A piece of mail from yet another contact he trusted to keep him informed had arrived, this time from Ildoa.

He opened it and unfolded the letter. The Empire wasn't the only country with a restive populace. The Ildoan politicians had miscalculated and promised their people territory. When that had failed to materialize in the aftermath of the peace treaty, the turmoil had begun.

_Serves them right_, he thought, putting the letter down and picking his work back up.

Another hour later, someone knocked at his door, which he'd closed to review a few sensitive documents. He quickly shoved the classified items in a drawer, locked it, and called "come in" to whoever it was.

"General," his adjutant saluted, "someone here to see you."

Lehrgen looked at his calendar and frowned. He didn't have any appointments so far as he knew.

"Well," Ernst corrected, "I think she came to see General von Romel originally, but he's not available."

_She _was all he needed to hear to know who it was. There was only one woman, no, one person, who would show up unannounced thinking she could drop in on the chief of staff of her country's army like it was her due.

As Romel himself had once called her, she was "invigoratingly arrogant". While describing her as arrogant was certainly true, Lehrgen wasn't sure what part of being subjected to Degurechaff's madness he was supposed to find invigorating.

He had come to…appreciate was perhaps too favorable of a sentiment, but he hadn't hated working with her by the end. He'd been able to figure out a method of dealing with her that didn't leave his stomach churning. He'd rather die than admit it out loud, but he would confess to missing her once in a blue moon, or at least missing how useful of a subordinate she'd been most of the time.

Regardless, he'd been glad to be free of her when things were over. He'd found himself agreeing with her at times and then would have to wonder if she wasn't able to infect people with her specific strain of insanity.

The last time Lehrgen saw her was at the state funeral. He hadn't been able to keep his face from morphing out of solemn grief and into impolite disbelief when he'd seen the tears roll down her cheeks. Even if in all likelihood she'd been crying for exactly the wrong reasons, that she was capable of the emotion at all was astonishing.

The treaty had imposed strict limits on the number of soldiers on the books, so the Army had a problem of too many prospective recruits rather than too few. For now, the minimum age for service had been raised to the age of majority. As Degurechaff was nowhere near twenty, she'd had little choice but to return to her orphanage and wait until she was old enough to enlist again.

She hadn't been the only disappearance from the General Staff Office. Part of the reason Lehrgen felt the pressure of his newest position so keenly was that two stalwart figures he'd relied on for years were no longer there to provide guidance.

General von Rudersdorf never had been afraid of making difficult decisions. Someone had to publicly accept blame for the missteps made along the way. His old boss had graciously stuck his own neck out to prevent the Army from turning on itself in the aftermath. The only consolation was that the brave old man was by all accounts fully enjoying his voluntary exile in Waldstätte.

They valued secrecy and gold more than upholding any sort of world order, so were perfectly happy to entertain discussions of receiving some industrial production relocated from the Lowlands, which the Empire had agreed to demilitarize and eventually grant independence to pending a future plebiscite. In his new position as liaison for Imperial industrial interests, Rudersdorf had like as not put on ten kilos as local companies threw lavish dinners in competition to sell to him.

General von Zettour was too cunning to let the forced liquidation of the General Staff stop him. He'd re-established it in all but name. Figuring it would be suspicious to concentrate too many officers in the old building, the members had mostly been dispersed among regional armies. It made coordination slightly more difficult, but everyone had phones these days.

Technically, Lehrgen was working at the headquarters for central command, but he doubted if a single person in the city had stopped referring to it as the General Staff Office. The braid he used to wear on his uniform was nowhere to be found, but in a smaller army, it wasn't difficult to keep track of who was who.

Among other niceties that Zettour had managed to exploit was the fact that it was nearly impossible for another country to audit which exact men were serving in the Army at any given moment. So long as the "official" copy of the enlisted men didn't show too much turnover, it was quite easy to rotate men in and out under the table, which would allow for a well-trained reserve force.

The Republic had eventually caught wind of some fudged numbers here and there, so the Imperial politicians had agreed to take measures. Zettour was relieved of his duties and they made a great show of forcing him to retire to the countryside, but no one ever got around to dismantling what he built, and Romel was quickly installed to replace him. Lehrgen wasn't exactly proud to be caught up in a nationwide act of deception, but his country needed more strength than it was allowed unless they wanted to be taken over by one of their neighbors one day.

Frankly, Zettour's pseudo-retirement had made it easier for the military to exert silent control over certain sympathetic paramilitary groups that had grown out of the soldiers returning home to find that there weren't enough job openings to fill. If it was Zettour giving the direction, now that he was a private citizen the _Reichswehr's_ hands were, on a technicality, clean. Though at least for now it seemed like Zettour was largely busying himself with studying the war and how it might have gone differently. There was at least one report of impressive length and detail mailed in each week.

Lehrgen himself had ended up with an undeserved promotion on account of the leadership changes. While he was certainly up to the task, it still made him uneasy every so often when he sat down to think about it. Really, what sort of sad state did an army have to be in to make someone a general at thirty-six?

With Zettour and Rudersdorf temporarily out of touch and Romel too busy for anything less than an emergency, he couldn't be wholly surprised that he'd been next on Degurechaff's list of targets. She probably still thought they were friends.

Upon reflection, Lehrgen decided that maybe it was good Romel was busy. Those two working together was a recipe for another war in a few years. Romel wasn't itching to start hostilities back up as soon as the Imperial Army recovered back to a stable state, but the man had definitely enjoyed the challenges of war and would be susceptible to Degurechaff's goading. If aerial mages were still allowed, he wouldn't put it past the other man to find some sort of exception for her. Lehrgen had the chance to head her off before she got to the top of the food chain.

Still, he almost told his adjutant to make some excuse and turn her away. Talking to her was guaranteed to be unsettling, and life was difficult enough at the moment. But he hadn't had a…not a friend, but a trusted adviser to rely on, in months. He had people to consult, but no one with her borderline supernatural ability to predict the course of events, her gift for strategy and logic, her strangely reassuring manner of explaining things. He couldn't pass up the chance to pick the mind of someone who could actually give him answers.

He leaned his head back, took a deep breath and then let out a long sigh. "Send her in," he told his adjutant. He'd at least see what she was here for.

It was the third time he'd seen her out of uniform. She was wearing men's clothes, which somehow didn't surprise him: an overly large pair of pants that appeared to be made more of patches than any of the original material, cinched on tightly with a belt, boots that looked to be older than she was, and a button-down that had presumably once been white but was now a dingy gray.

She had grown in the intervening months, but not enough that she threatened to ever be a tall woman. He'd estimate that she stood a shade under a meter and a half. And though she might no longer look like she belonged in the first half of primary school, she still looked nearly two years younger than sixteen.

Her hair was shorter than she used to wear it, clipped into a bob that ended just below her ears. That sort of thing was coming into style among some of the younger ladies, but he very much doubted she was doing this because she'd suddenly decided she cared about fashion trends. She wasn't wearing the short dress or heavy makeup that usually accompanied, so he had to assume it was out of practicality. The cut was a bit uneven, and had been neatly combed, but wasn't arranged in any particular manner. It also looked like it would benefit from a thorough wash.

Overall, the impression her appearance gave was not one that said she was living a life anyone dreamed of having. Except for her eyes. Her eyes hadn't changed at all, and if they had, it was only to show visible evidence of a burning passion to do something more with herself, an emotion that put that same old fear in the pit of his stomach. She stared, unabashed and unafraid, calculating and cool as ever, right through him.

"Lieuten-Ms. Degurechaff," he greeted.

"Thank you for seeing me, General von Lehrgen. And my congratulations on earning that title," she began, starting off politely.

"Thank you, though we both know it would be a mistake to say I earned it. If I remember correctly, you are still more than three years too young to be assuming your own position back, so I must presume you're here for another reason?" he asked, getting straight to the point. He did not have time to waste idly chatting, and of all the people to idly chat with, she was not high on his list.

"I – I've been looking for work," she said, gaze softening into something less prideful at his direct question as she looked down at her feet and shuffled them.

"Might I ask why?" Lehrgen queried.

Legally she should still be a ward of the state. Combined with whatever cash she'd saved from her years working, she should have enough to live comfortably enough. She had every reason to take it easy and try to finish out the rest of her childhood normally.

_Unless, of course, that isn't possible for her_, Lehrgen sighed to himself, the phrase "it's the only path for me" that he'd seen written on her enrollment application all those years ago flashing through his mind as he suppressed a shudder at the thought that she was still so attached to that life of violence she'd originally wanted for herself.

"After having my own discretion for so long it's been difficult to adjust back," she explained.

He nodded with some amount of sympathy. Anyone who knew anything about Tanya Degurechaff could have told you that fitting into civilian life would give her trouble.

"Without something to put my mind to, I'm afraid I might go mad soon," she continued, with a short huff of laughter. "I don't know what I'd do."

"We can't have that," Lehrgen said, trying to keep his voice steady despite the icy hand that had just grabbed at his heart. The vindication that he was right about what she was doing there was little solace.

He checked in with the police that patrolled the district near her orphanage every so often to make sure there was no suspicious activity. From what it sounded like, their lives were about to get interesting.

"Even with all the orders, the Army was less restrictive than the orphanage," Degurechaff said, shaking her head in annoyance. "I couldn't always do exactly as I liked, but at least some of the time I was being paid for things I could be passionate about."

_I'd forgotten what this felt like_, Lehrgen thought, wishing he didn't know exactly where her passions lay. When Degurechaff had been a more frequent fixture in his life, she'd loomed larger, and most of the time it had been easy to forget that she was a small girl. Seeing her again when he'd least expected it had reminded him how pathetic it ought to feel to be afraid of her. It had been well over a year since he'd sat across from the diminutive blonde and felt so helpless.

"And, well, I get on fine with my roommate, but I'd like to do away with having one. I'm sure most people could understand that."

"Right," he gulped, as he wondered how permanently this unsuspecting girl was going to be done away with. "Living on your own would be for the best."

"Exactly," Degurechaff nodded. "With the age restriction for service I've tried my luck a few other places, but," she paused, heaving a great sigh.

"I grew up in the Army, General. I can't cook much of anything besides camp food, can't sew unless it's to replace a button, and being a nanny would be a farce for me and a travesty for my charge. Everything I'm qualified for they want to hire a man to do, or pay me too little to be worth the effort," she finished, face twisting into bitter displeasure.

He raised an eyebrow. "I find it hard to believe no one wants to employ a national hero."

Hard as it was for him to swallow, certain right-leaning publications had taken to lauding Degurechaff as an example of what all citizens should strive to become.

"Most people don't believe me," she muttered, "they think it was all propaganda. The few that do think I'm only skilled in aerial combat and little else."

She cleared her throat and glanced at her feet again for a second, and he could see that asking for help was costing her dearly.

"I believe you know that I'm a capable employee in many other respects, so if you know anyone that you might recommend me to, I would appreciate it."

He didn't think he knew anyone that was prepared to handle her. He'd only been able to do so because of the strict hierarchy in place. She would terrorize a normal workplace. But it felt unfair to turn her away without trying to help. Not unfair to her, but to the rest of the world.

"Let me think," he told her. "I'll…" he drifted off. He'd been intending on saying he was going to get back to her, after he gave some serious thought to what industry she could be shoved in to cause a minimum of possible disruption, but while he had her there, it was possible she'd be interested in discussing some of the convoluted issues awaiting his decision.

"If you have time to wait, I wouldn't mind hearing your thoughts on some of the matters before me," he told her, beginning to gather his papers into piles by subject.

"I'm happy to advise, General, but I'm not in a position to work for free, you know."

_Of course she wouldn't give anything freely, _he muttered to himself. Generosity of spirit was not something he'd ever imagined her capable of.

He was about to ask what she considered a fair hourly rate, but another thought struck him. She was looking for a job. He was badly in need of assistance. There were far fewer officers in the _Truppenamt _than there had been on the General Staff, so everyone's workload was correspondingly larger. So long as he kept a tight leash on her, keeping her close at hand was arguably the best choice, at least until he figured out what else she might find interesting enough to distract her from whatever dark impulses she was struggling with. If he wasn't careful, she'd start a goddamned revolution left to her own devices. Ambition and genius mixed with boredom was a toxic recipe.

"Would you be interested in working for me again?" he asked her. She began to nod and then paused.

"I can't, I'm not old enough," she said, nod morphing into a shake of her head.

"Not to be enlisted, no," he agreed. "But very few of the women in the office are. The typists and secretaries aren't officially on the rolls."

He saw the realization dawn in her eyes, and continued before she could raise an objection.

"It might seem insulting, after being a well-respected Lieutenant Colonel, but I won't have you make my coffee or pick up my dry-cleaning, for what it's worth. I already have an adjutant, so I don't need a personal assistant."

She didn't say anything, just waited for him to make an official proposal. Her cool demeanor made her a good negotiator. Didn't give anything away, just let him make an offer without jumping at it.

"I'll find some advisory title to give you," he continued, sure she would find a term like file-clerk below her. She did have an ego. "And everyone will know that regardless, you should be accorded the respect due to your former rank."

She looked pleased, but remained silent, giving him a nod but otherwise remaining impassive.

"I'll see to it that your compensation matches your value, which I expect you know is rather high."

At that statement, her eyes came alight with a glow he could only describe as unholy. _Maybe this is a bad idea_, he thought. Anything that she was this excited about was probably a bad idea.

She stuck her hand out with a genuine smile on her face. He stood up and shook it, and then escorted her to the officer in charge of personnel so they could hammer out the details, wondering once again, for a moment, if this was wise. He hadn't lost a single bit of the reservations he'd once had about her, but he knew he'd be a fool to lose someone as talented as she.

He'd have to keep a better eye on her than Zettour and Rudersdorf had done, curb her worst inclinations. But so far as he'd been able to tell, once he started assessing her with a more objective eye, she was generally earnestly helpful, if badly misguided when it came to using her own intuition. So long as she had someone to guide her, this arrangement might not be doomed to turn out poorly.

When things were settled, she came back to his office, propped her elbows on his desk, and with avid interest, began to advise. Lehrgen called his adjutant in after a few minutes to have him cancel his remaining plans for the afternoon, already sure this was going to be a long and fruitful discussion. He had lunch brought in for both of them, treating them each to a glass of imported _Gewürztraminer _along with it.

"Well, here's to hoping working together this time ends better than the last," she said as a toast, clinking glasses with him.

He smiled ruefully but appreciatively. It would be nice to have someone else who saw things differently. Even if it was mixed with possible homicidal tendencies. She ate greedily but neatly and gave a polite thanks at the end of the meal.

Hunger no longer distracting them, they talked and disagreed and strategized and ruminated. For hours she sat poring over documents, maps, and briefings, rarely looking at him, engrossed with whatever was on the table in front of her.

She was understandably knowledgeable on military matters, but as the conversation touched other subjects she showed a breathtaking depth of knowledge on matters ranging from monetary policy to scientific research to the intricacies of foreign political relations.

Her strange…aura…the charisma, the occasional impudence, the bizarre mixture of teenaged girl and consummate adult, the rare glances into the deepest part of her eyes that had a drive and implacability so terrifying she might be able to put the fear of Tanya into God, the raw intelligence coupled with a studiousness that he was grudgingly impressed by, the dry humor, they all melded together to create the insidious pull of _Tanya_. Perhaps he'd come to regret this. One on one, it would be all too easy to be drawn irresistibly into her flawed way of thinking by virtue of the logical arguments that coated it.

As the day drew to a close, Lehrgen halted the spirited back-and-forth in favor of clearing up a few practical matters.

"You're on the clock at eight," he told her, putting the papers they'd been reading away.

She hesitated for a moment, her eyes looking blankly up towards the ceiling like she was making a mental calculation.

"Will that be a problem?" he asked, when she didn't immediately reply.

She shook her head. "Just thinking what time I'll need to leave home by."

"If I were you I'd take the weekend to find something better connected to the rest of the city," he advised.

She winced slightly. "About that…"

"Yes?"

"Does the Army still have dormitories in the city?"

"You aren't a soldier anymore Degurechaff," he reminded her, a touch sharply.

"Then would it be possible to request an advance on my next paycheck?"

"I know it wasn't a fortune, but I was under the impression the Army paid you for the work you did," he said, with a questioning look. "You never struck me as having either the time or inclination to spend much of what you made. Surely you should have something saved up."

"My money was held with the Army's bank. It seemed safer than any of the private institutions," she said.

"As far as I heard the money was released to anyone that was owed it as soon as everything was worked out," he replied, still confused.

"Yes," she said, angrily gripping a pen, "except for soldiers who were under sixteen. In that case the money was released to their next of kin. My next of kin is the Empire's welfare services division. And now they've gone and changed it again anyway, I'll have to wait until I'm twenty. By then inflation will probably have eaten away at the majority of it."

He couldn't say he was entirely surprised that the state had frozen the accounts over which it could make a thin legal argument for trusteeship. The government wasn't picky about where its money came from these days. He had faith they'd reimburse her when the time came, but at the moment the money was almost certainly not there awaiting withdrawal.

He sympathetically wrote out a check equal to her first month of pay, telling her to consider it a small starting bonus. She at least deserved something for coming to call on him before she gave into any worse impulses. As he did so, he continued to chat with her over the minutiae of her new position, over which a small argument ensued when they reached the subject of clothing.

"You can't wear a uniform anymore, so I do expect you to be dressed appropriately on Monday," he told her.

"My pants will be pressed to perfection," she promised.

"Degurechaff, it feels strange to have to remind you of this, but you are a woman. Women wear dresses and skirts to work."

"Pants are easier to get around in," she complained.

"You'll be sitting at a desk all day, not marching through fields. I'm sure a skirt will be perfectly practical," he countered.

"Sir, if they were more practical than pants, they'd come as part of a standard issue uniform," she replied, smile tugging at her lips at the thought.

The image of Imperial soldiers doing their exercises so dressed was too funny to argue with. Sensing that winning this battle would be more trouble than it was worth, he agreed that so long as her clothes were clean and correctly sized, she could wear what she liked come Monday.

After she left, he drummed his fingers on the table a few times, for the first time in months in want of something pressing to take care of. He picked up one of the papers she'd written notes on to file it away, pausing for a second and raising an eyebrow when he glanced at her handwriting.

Everything was penned neatly and legibly, with the exception of an unusual amount of ink blots, and that was the strangest part of it. Only children tried to write their letters out the way one saw them printed in a book instead of using their own form of script. Any letters that were joined together in a grouping appeared to be unintentional, a line dragged haphazardly between them, the result of not lifting the pen far enough off the page.

_I suppose she missed out on that part of her education_, he thought, with a pitying shake of his head as he stood up to go drop in on General von Romel and let him know not to be shocked when he saw Degurechaff wandering around the office again.

Lehrgen corrected himself a moment later - she'd intentionally foregone that part of her education in favor of getting lessons in combat. She had no need of pity.

_God grant me the strength to put up with her_, he prayed, to a deity he didn't really believe in. He had a feeling there would be many days he needed to imagine there was something more powerful than he that stood between Degurechaff and some form of disaster.

* * *

_A/N: Compensation matching value? At that moment, Tanya realized...Male? Female? Those are just arbitrary categories preventing us from seeing the true meaning of love...a mutual agreement on economic principles._

_In this timeline, Britney Spears finds the lyrics to "Toxic" scrawled in an old journal from the Empire._

_Kinda wanted to give Tanya a Cersei Lannister haircut but felt like she probably wouldn't go that far and risk standing out (or the nuns would refuse to do it lol)...also can someone write a crossover where Tanya is one of Tywin Lannister's nieces and he likes her more than his own kids because they are spirit animals of each other and she rises to power in the West and she and post-war Sansa make peace by becoming Queens of Westeros together? Salaryman would be so in love with Sansa's growth from "literally worse than useless" to "has her shit completely together". He'd be head over heels. Please. Please write this someone._

_Do I need a thumbnail? Everyone else has a thumbnail. I feel uncool. Next time I update I'm going to put a thumbnail. It's a very difficult decision between a stupidly hilarious scene out of Youjo Konki, them arguing in Vol 7, or a merge of the pics of them on Vol 4 where she looks smug as all hell and he's wringing his hands like 'please author, please save me from Tanya, I'll do anything', to which I say your prayers are useless, I have hardened my heart, thou shalt suffer._


	14. Seven Years of Bad Luck

.

**December 1, 1929  
Moabitte, Imperial Capital Berun**

A satisfying click of the lock. A turn inwards to sweep eyes over factory-fresh furniture. A deep inhale of clean air, ever so slightly tinged with the scent of quince. A few steps, a hand tipping a bottle of wine to meet a glass, and then a tannic bitterness on the tongue while settling into a chair beside floor-to-ceiling windows, below which the cherry blossoms in the local park were beginning to bud.

It was how every newly-rented apartment should greet its latest tenant. Or at least it had been how the last apartment with her name on the lease had treated her.

_A different name_, Tanya Degurechaff reminded herself. The monotonous tranquility of sitting behind a desk day in and day out with no end in sight was almost enough to make her feel like her life had never suffered any interference from irrational entities to begin with.

Her new apartment was a definite departure from the ones she'd rented in her previous life. _One small step forward for Tanya Degurechaff, but one giant leap backwards for me_, she thought, with a sardonic smile. The best she could say about her new abode was that humble as it might be, it was several times better than a tent, and a modest improvement from a shared room in a nunnery.

Her lock took some convincing to make it slide home. A good scour and oiling would take care of that. If not, she'd have some words with the landlord. Most of her furniture had seen previous owners. It was well-made and built to last, so once she'd given it a thorough scrub, that wouldn't be an issue. Nobody had heard of the term "planned obsolescence" yet.

There was nothing wrong with the smell, but something about it indisputably said "lived in". She could buy a candle if it came down to it. Floor-to-ceiling windows wouldn't be in vogue for years to come, and all her window looked out on was a concrete courtyard. That she didn't mind so much. Even in the winter, she preferred to sleep with a window cracked, and this way it would be quiet.

Red wine of similar quality to what she'd inaugurated her last residence with would be imported and thus expensive, so there was no wine. She could have bought a half-decent white, but that would have been besides the point, so it would have defeated the purpose of buying anything at all.

All the same, Tanya settled into her chair with a plate of food just as satisfied as she'd been with her previous rental. If she could already afford her own apartment at sixteen, it wouldn't be arrogant to think that by thirty-six she might have climbed to a higher socioeconomic status she'd attained in her previous life. Rock bottom wasn't so bad.

She could have rented something more expensive. Her salary was more than decent, especially considering that it was adjusted regularly for inflation. Technically, she'd made more as a lieutenant colonel, but that was only on account of the hefty amount of hazard pay. Hour-for-Mark, she was certainly coming out on top now.

A more expensive apartment would mean one of two things: a larger space, which was entirely unnecessary, or a less central location, which would have done nothing but extend her commute. If she'd been willing to put up with that, she would have just stayed on at the orphanage until she turned eighteen and was given the choice of becoming a nun or getting booted out.

The only complaint she had about her neighborhood was in regards to the other residents. Almost all of central Berun leaned hard to the left. It was very possible the people sharing a wall with her had voted for the Communist Party in the last election.

As unfortunate as that fact was, she counted on remaining blissfully unaware of the truth. In her last building, she'd only been acquainted with a handful of the other tenants. Mostly those who had retrieved their mail at the same time she had, back when she had been unequivocally a he. He had gone five years without knowing the names of the family next door to him after he'd moved to Hiroo.

All he'd really known about them was that they'd had a grandchild they watched occasionally so its parents could enjoy a night alone. He hadn't known that for a fact, but it was what he'd assumed when he'd heard those obnoxious cries on those occasional Saturday nights.

If Tanya could just keep that streak up, she'd never be the wiser that her cohabitants weren't voting for a reasonable centrist.

At night, the downtown parts of Berun could get a bit rowdy. It was a concern, but not one that she'd let sway her decision away from a good deal. Between the hours of ten-thirty at night and six-thirty in the morning, her only plans were to be deeply asleep. Her apartment was built for safety, and she'd taken a room on the top level. Only someone with a personal grudge came up to the sixth floor.

That consideration had flitted through her mind. Tanya Degurechaff wasn't a name anyone could call 'beloved' of the Communist Party. A personal point of pride, but a potential danger. With the drastic haircut and the fact that she no longer looked like a child, so long as she didn't introduce herself to anyone with unfortunate political leanings, she would be nothing more than another nondescript blonde.

_Well, maybe spending that extra money on a better place wouldn't matter much_, Tanya thought with a slight groan, as she finished off the last of the mushrooms she'd sautéed a few minutes before.

_No_, she reminded herself firmly. It was hard to be an optimist after everything she'd been through, but she'd at least maintain herself as a pragmatist. Her country hadn't entered an inflationary spiral yet.

She walked over to the mostly-barren bookcase against a wall, smiling at the thought of having five or more of them. These were the days when having a private study was almost middle-class. It wouldn't be long.

From the shelf, she drew out the economic proposal she'd typed up. Keying it had been a laborious process. Typewriters were much less eager to obey than computer keyboards. But typing was a skill that would only become more in demand with time, so she'd seen no reason to put off learning.

Tanya paged through her proposal a last time. She'd had to make some calculations she had minimal confidence in at the end. She could talk up her ideas all she liked, but without at least a few numbers on the page, it would all sound like bluster. She had to give the Americans some reason to think this would benefit them.

Truthfully, the proposal wasn't without some risk. American money was bound to run out at some point. But the Imperial economy was more in need of emergency stimulation than it was long-term assistance. There wasn't much point in worrying about your country devolving into ruin ten years in the future when you could worry about it devolving into ruin tomorrow instead.

Besides, she wasn't advocating for continued dependence on the States for a reason. Only enough to get them out of the mess they were in now. She'd take a slowly-regrowing economy over one that rode high for a few years only to crash spectacularly a few years later any day. Incremental improvement was always the most sustainable.

Putting the papers back, she readied herself for bed. No competition for the sink, she could soak in her tub as long as she liked, and she used a brand new towel for what might have been the first time in her entire life. All in all, not a bad way to end the day.

_The Empire was a logical country_, she reassured herself, pulling her sheets back and climbing into bed in a room that was hers and hers alone. Anyone who saw her notes could be expected to understand their value, even if it looked unorthodox at first glance.

She would count on that to hold true for her new country as well. If her contacts came through for her, there was a chance she wouldn't need to worry that her cash would become worthless the day after she received it. The mattress under her and the roof above her wouldn't be considered luxury goods in the not-so-near future.

Most people would listen to reason if you gave them the chance.

**December 10, 1929  
General Staff Office, Imperial Capital Berun**

Erich von Lehrgen considered himself a smart man. He would never want to come across as arrogant, but there was no sense in being modest to the point of lacking self-awareness. Compared to the average person, he was conscious of the fact that he came out ahead. Most of his academic life had been spent waiting for his peers to catch on to concepts he'd grasped with ease.

This, he was belatedly realizing, had left him singularly ill-prepared to deal with the person sitting in front of him. He simply had no experience in managing the sensation of being completely lost on a certain subject. Even knowing that Tanya Degurechaff was what was commonly defined as a genius, her expertise on every matter she put her mind to was stupefying.

Blinking a few times in response to his bewilderment, Lehrgen flipped back to the beginning of the report on his desk so that he could page through the detailed proposal Degurechaff had handed him for a second time.

Seeing as how leaving her to her own devices had fared so well the last time her superior officers had tried it, he'd felt it prudent to schedule regular meetings with her. Too much oversight and he'd never get anything done, but he couldn't afford to assign her a project and only speak to her about it when she delivered the final results. Without fail, that had ended in tasks completed in ways no one had imagined or wanted. A consistent check-in would make sure she stayed on track.

Tuesdays and Thursdays, an hour after lunch, he blocked off two hours and allowed her to invade his office. Apparently, despite the hefty workload he'd already assigned her, it hadn't been enough to satisfy her. After today's meeting had finished, she'd leaned down, drawn a miniature thesis out of her bag, and dropped it on the desk between them.

"General," she'd said, upon noticing his confusion at the title, "I understand this isn't part of your job, but I hoped you might know someone to pass this along to."

To say that it wasn't a part of his job would be an understatement on the order of calling the eruption at Pompei "a spot of bad weather". Financial matters were well outside the purview of his role. He was familiar enough with things like departmental budgets, and understood investments to a degree, but he was not a sophisticated financier in either his professional or personal life. Until a few minutes ago, he would have guessed that was one of the few traits he shared with Degurechaff.

What she was proposing - or at least so far as he could even divine what was going on - was a way to assist the government in paying off its war debts. There hadn't been enough gold to finance the war, an issue which anyone could have seen coming if they'd had the foresight to know how large it would grow.

After the resumption of war by the Republic, an emergency measure had been passed to suspend convertibility of bills into gold. New paper notes had replaced the old, and made it easy to inject more capital to pay for soldiers and weaponry as needed, the amount no longer constrained by reserves.

That was the first problem Degurechaff's paper took aim at, as she delivered what would have been a blistering polemic, if not for the academic wording, on how an inescapable disaster might befall their currency. An immediate return to gold would be ruinous, but she didn't advocate that at all. She gave her support to one side of the debate raging in the Treasury on that count. The main body of her work was in regards to using foreign capital investments to cover what they could.

Theoretically, her paper looked sound to Lehrgen. That was about as useful as his opinion on whether a submarine had been built to withstand the pressure it would encounter several hundred meters under the ocean. He would notice obvious cracks in the hull, but no sane captain would board it until it had been checked by someone with an engineering degree. He couldn't rightly pass this along if he couldn't trust it had value.

"Degurechaff," he started skeptically, "may I ask how you came up with this idea?"

"I had plenty of time to myself to think at the orphanage," she replied promptly.

"I didn't realize orphanages kept collections of books on esoteric finance," he said pointedly, glancing once again at the paper that was full of the type of hand-drawn tables and projections usually left to someone who'd trained long enough in the science to be a PhD candidate.

She shifted in her seat. "I studied it during my free time. Before I had to go back."

"The front must have been more leisurely than I remember," he retorted.

"During War College," she clarified.

He opened his mouth to press the issue. A normal War College curriculum was two years. Hers had been accelerated to a bare six months. That should have left very little time to pursue academic interests outside her assigned studies. Even a genius had to have time to do the necessary background reading.

_Drop it_, he told himself after a second. He'd drive himself mad trying to explain each and every quirk. Plus, she was looking increasingly uncomfortable with his line of questioning. He didn't want her to stop coming to him with outlandish thoughts because she thought she'd get grilled each time. Her outlandish thoughts were what he'd hired her for.

"You're confident in your knowledge of this subject?"

She nodded. "Yes, sir."

"What got you interested?" he asked out of curiosity.

"Oh," she said, perking up in her seat, "nothing important, really. Just a better understanding of how to fund the life I want to make for myself. I'll never be able to get back on track if our finances stay the way they are."

_When she says it like that, you almost have to respect her dedication_, Lehrgen laughed to himself. It wasn't as though he'd thought a month sitting behind a desk would exert some mystical force over her and turn her into a pacifist. There was being an optimist, and then there was being an idiot. Still, only the most devoted of hobbyists took the time to go into a subject so tangential to their true interests.

If anything, this only proved the wisdom of hiring her. Her ideas themselves weren't bad. Just their intentions. Degurechaff might want to use an improved economy to fund another war, but so long as someone was there to moderate her, only the useful bits needed to leave his office.

"Well, I can tell you that for now the only thing the Army will be doing with any extra room in the budget is restoring ourselves to a state where our national defense isn't under threat," he reprimanded her.

Once the Empire had been bounded on all sides by other powers of Europaen significance, its doctrine had morphed into a defensive one. Some of the officers, especially the older ones, longed for a return to expansionist policies, but they were the minority. Degurechaff was overdue for a reminder that stretching the physical limits of their country to span the continent had never been a policy goal.

She had paused for a moment at the admonition, but gave him a grin a second later. "Of course, sir. And from there, we'll be able to make our way forward."

_Did she never learn the phrase 'good enough'?_ Lehrgen wondered idly. Trying to grow beyond that and inciting the other powers to give war another go would be more accurately described as making their way backwards instead of forwards. Not that there were no revisions to borders he'd make if he had the chance. For one, separating Ostria proper from the rest of the Empire simply because of historical precedent had ignored that a majority of both populations desired to be united. And besides, their economies had become integrated enough that the separation had been painful, to say the least.

"A question from someone unfamiliar with these matters, if I may?" he asked, moving along after deciding he'd get nowhere trying to change her mind on the proper use of funds.

"Of course, sir. Happy to answer."

"Most of our debts are owed internally as far as I've heard. Shouldn't we be able to manage that ourselves? We're putting our economy at the mercy of foreign credit this way."

The reaction he got to the question made him raise his eyebrows briefly. There was nothing unusual about it, but the person in front of him was anything but usual. _I don't think I've ever seen her at a loss before_, Lehrgen thought.

Tanya rolled her head from one side to the other, like even for her trying to distill an hours-long lecture into a few sentences was a challenge.

"We're already at the mercy of foreign credit," she began. "Our economy isn't self-sufficient."

She paused and glanced at him, and he nodded to indicate he was following.

"The Mark was never a currency of international trade, even before the war. Now, most foreign creditors won't take it, and those that will charge too much of a premium to sustain. If we're stuck trying to purchase foreign goods at those levels, it could still push us towards rapid devaluation, no matter what we do internally."

"The American economy is strong and people will trust it if we pay in dollars," Lehrgen concluded.

"Exactly. Dollars will keep us solvent in the credit markets."

"Couldn't we just default?" he asked. "At least on some portion of it? We don't owe a huge balance externally, it shouldn't scare off foreign investment for years to come. So long as we make good on our debts as best we can, nobody reasonable can ask for more."

"You have more experience dealing with them, but at least in my lifetime, the Republic hasn't been known for acting reasonably. We owe them reparations payments."

"Which you're in favor of paying?" Lehrgen questioned, as soon as he'd recovered from his jaw attempting to drop to the floor.

That Tanya, of all citizens, considered those a priority was too absurd to put into words. Looking at their international obligations, reparations were an area where it seemed easiest to justify a lesser settlement. The Imperial treasury had issued debt which it was obligated to repay to the best of its ability. But the Empire had never asked for the war. The Republic bore the blame for starting one they couldn't win.

"What I meant, sir," she replied, clearing her throat, "is that the consequences of default could be severe. The Republic may decide they'd like payment in kind. Much of our industry lies close to that border."

_The Republic is in no position for armed intervention_, Lehrgen thought. If it weren't for the Americans, the Republican Army wouldn't exist. Though, as Degurechaff had mentioned, it wouldn't be the first time they'd acted rashly. She had been the one to predict that irrational evacuation of theirs.

"That is worth considering," he nodded.

"The worst thing would be to invite a conflict we aren't ready for. The Republic may decide to take more than financial retribution for Arene."

Lehrgen gulped. To imagine his fellow citizens subjected to such things was unconscionable. Quickly, he scribbled a note on the final page of the paper in front of him as a reminder. If the subject of their reparations ever came up among his politically-minded friends, he'd have to pass that warning on. Avoiding a repeat of that debacle was something the entire country could agree on.

"So, between this and what the _Reichsbank _already has planned, you think it will put us back to normal operation?" he asked, humoring her with a touch of a smile. Regardless of her motivations, she was showing a spectacular willingness to help.

"Not entirely, sir," she said hesitantly. "We issued too much paper. Our citizens that own bonds will still have to take a loss, but it's better to dent a household budget than destroy it. I suppose we could start a campaign asking those who can spare the money to tear up their certificates, but that will be a hard sell. Now, if we asked after we won a war-"

"No point in speculating," Lehrgen interjected. The answer to financial ills brought on by losing a war did not need to be starting a war they could win.

"Do you know anyone who could give this a read?" Degurechaff asked hopefully.

"I'll see what I can do," he promised.

If her strange notions on finance were a tenth as useful as her strange notions on military matters, he ought to at least give her a shot to talk to someone who could give her paper proper consideration. He shouldn't limit her to only giving opinions on the state of the army if she wanted to offer them on a broader range of subjects. The trouble was, for all of Lehrgen's connections, it wasn't as though he was friends with every government minister.

Realizing that he would likely be the limiting factor for her ideas gave him the unusual feeling of being rather useless. He was determined he'd find someone to push this onto so his own subordinate couldn't look down on him. He might not be able to think of a likely candidate off the top of his head, but he was sure he knew someone who knew someone. And that someone wouldn't brush off a General in the Army without thinking about it.

"One last thing," he said as she got up to leave, reminded of something that had been left undone. "I never got the chance to apologize for what I said to you before you left to stop the assault on Kyev."

She froze for a second, looking startled by the confession.

"You spoke the truth," was all she said in return, waving it off.

"Even without parents, I'm sure you felt yourself part of a family at one point," he offered.

He didn't really believe that. His investigation into her orphanage all those years ago had concluded that while she hadn't gone out of her way to be mean to the other children, she had lacked the natural instinct to bond with her peers. It would be rude to suggest anything of the sort in the middle of giving an apology, though.

"A long time ago," she replied, with a humorless sniff of laughter that he didn't understand, contradicting every expectation he had of how she'd reply. "So long ago that it feels like another lifetime."

For the shortest moment, she looked - _what had Serebryakov called it that one time?_ \- forlorn. It was gone in an instant, so quickly he told himself he must have been seeing things.

"And your family?" she questioned.

In all honesty, he was shocked she remembered. He doubted she really cared, but that she'd cared enough to even store it away as something to ask about later was rather impressive, given her typical unconcern over others. He gave a sideways rock of his head to indicate a so-so outcome.

"My brother and his family made it through fine. My parents didn't," he said shortly. She didn't need to know the details, and probably didn't want them in any case.

She nodded grimly, and then gave a wry smile. "I wouldn't have pegged you as being from the east," she said, "you're much too educated."

It was true that the common people in the eastern reaches of the Empire had a reputation for being less cultured than those to the west, the rural lands slower to change than the large cluster of cities near Rhine and Ruhr. But his family hadn't been a part of the peasantry. Or the working class, as they were now called.

"It's not so impressive," he said, with a good-humored sigh. "All the estates employ tutors."

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise, and he wondered if he needed to be insulted, given that it was so amazing to hear he'd been brought up well.

"I never would have guessed. You worked harder than almost anyone else. Still do."

"What's that have to do with it?"

"Very few of us deserve the positions we were born into."

Her somewhat cross tone made him think she was less trying to pay him a compliment than complain about her own unfair circumstances, but still, he smiled a bit. She was difficult to impress, but he thought this time he might have managed it.

He waved her out, and sat down to make a few calls. It took almost two weeks, but he finally tracked someone down who was high enough up at the _Reichsbank _to make a difference, a Rudolf Fischer. As soon as he heard the news, he went to find Degurechaff.

"Do you think you could get another one of these typed up?" he asked, handing the proposal that he'd kept back to her. "That way I can send it on to Fischer before the meeting."

"Of course, sir," she said brightly, taking the papers from him. "When do you need it by?"

"As soon as it can be done," he replied. "No later than the end of the week."

With the Christmas holiday starting tomorrow and New Year's not long after, plenty of the typists would be on leave, so it would be best for her to submit the request right away if they wanted it completed in the interim.

"I'll get right on it," she promised.

xXx

Tanya Degurechaff waited until her door was shut before she let herself shake her fists in victory. If she argued her case right, their economy would be as stable as it could be, given the circumstances. No less importantly, she had the chance to impress a few bankers. Once her name was in the papers for brilliant business ideas, she'd finally have more than one institution willing to employ her. Threatening to switch to a career in finance would make the coming year's salary negotiations a breeze.

Even better, she'd managed to assuage one worry on her mind - the Army's stance on another war. The Imperial Army had been a defensive army. With the way that had ended for them, it was possible they'd switched gears into thinking something as stupid as "the best defense is a good offense" could work to win back what they'd lost. When you saw steps being taken towards some rearmament, you had to wonder where they planned on stopping. Luckily, their main takeaway must have been that they should have stuck to their border defense plan to begin with.

She was in full agreement that the Army needed to be stronger than they were now, no matter what measures they had to take to get there. If they didn't do something, sooner or later her country would be overrun by communists as they made their way west. To that end, Tanya was happy to help. Once they got to a defensible position and an improved economy had calmed the passions of angry voters, she could move on to private industry with no regrets. Her country would be safe, but not on a path to conquer anyone.

It had worried her a bit to hear the anger in Lehrgen's tone at admitting that they were going to do nothing more than stabilize their borders. Coupled with the shock he had betrayed at the thought that a patriotic citizen would consider paying reparations a duty, she'd have to be careful to make sure she had sound reasoning behind anything that reeked of pacifism. The Army might not be openly courting another war, but Lehrgen was still a man who had a deep-rooted belief in the righteousness of the Imperial state. When his home and family had been damaged by the war, it wasn't hard to see why certain new realities were hard for him to stomach.

When she came in the next day despite it being a holiday, her mood towards her boss was still forgiving. In the Army, "as soon as it can be done" had always meant "yesterday". Asking her to work over Christmas to type up a second copy of her paper wasn't the type of heartless order she usually associated with him. She'd take it as a good sign that he considered her work so important to restoring his pride in their nation.

It wasn't as though she had any plans for Christmas as opposed to another day off. In some ways, it was best to have an excuse to avoid the crowds celebrating an enemy she hated more than the Republic or the Federation.

_Plus_, she thought, knitting her hands together over her head to stretch her arms and give her fingers a break, _a check through Lehrgen's papers while most everyone's out won't hurt._

Privacy was of utmost importance in a civilized world, but nobody's privacy outranked her personal safety. There was always the chance that he was keeping certain re-mobilization plans from her until she proved herself trustworthy. Some extra caution was warranted. And without security cameras, all she had to worry about was putting things back the way they'd been left.

She took a folder along with her, just in case she needed to make the excuse that she was dropping something off. Even that was highly unlikely. There had been guards at the door to the office and she'd passed two receptionists who'd been assigned the duty of waiting in case of emergency calls, but nobody had come down the hallway in the two hours she'd been there.

She strode down from her own office with purpose, made a quick check over both shoulders to make sure she was alone, and quietly turned the knob.

As was to be expected, there was more than one locked drawer in his desk. Nonetheless, a quick glance through the incoming and outgoing trays confirmed there was nothing major to worry about. Large-scale plans would have been difficult to hide completely. At least for now, she could put that fear to rest. Lehrgen was meticulously neat, which she gave a small grin of thanks for. She didn't have to replicate some random jumble of papers to put them back in order.

_Ah, well, that's the best Christmas present I could ask for_, she told herself, returning to her own office to continue the slow progress she was making on her typing. The future was only looking up.

**January 6, 1930  
General Staff Office, Imperial Capital Berun**

_I'll need to sleep with my window closed tonight,_ Lehrgen thought to himself, peering out a window in his office to see branches waving as winter wind howled through them. So long as the weather cooperated, he liked keeping one cracked at night even during the colder parts of the year, but tonight he'd have to make an exception.

His gaze trailed to the other window, a mostly similar scene with slightly different trees playing out there. His office had two windows now, it being several times the size of his previous one. It was large enough to host more than one guest or two at a time, which was good, because the unexpected fourth person in the room with him would have overstuffed his old quarters.

He picked up a pen and pulled a pad of paper towards him, so nobody could see the exact nature of the notes he was going to take. He'd noticed this past weekend that he was running low on a few staple items in his pantry. He wanted no repeats of the deplorable situation he'd found himself in several times during the war - too distracted to remember to stock up and by the time he realized his food had finally run out, too tired to leave the house in favor of a restaurant.

_And I finally have to get that mirror replaced_, he remembered, tapping his chin with his pen before noting that down as well. He'd cracked it while moving a piece of furniture after he'd taken up permanent residence in their family's Berun home. He'd been recently promoted to major then, and it had happened the day before he'd been due to make his first rounds through the training schools to review candidates for placement. The annoyance of getting someone to come in to customize and install a mirror of that size so that it matched the one hanging across from it had seemed too much back then, and from there he'd grown used to it. Everything had been fine up until this morning, when it had finally given out and he'd awoken to pieces of glass scattered on the floor.

It hardly needed to be said, but allowing his mind to become preoccupied by dinner plans or home renovations while in the middle of a meeting wasn't a habitual mannerism. In this instance, though, most of the concepts being tossed about the room were over his head. He was in a rare moment of having absolutely nothing to contribute.

Rudolf Fischer, a close friend of his least favorite cousin, whom Lehrgen had only called for an introduction once his options had narrowed sufficiently, had brought along his boss to the meeting he'd agreed to schedule over Degurechaff's foray into finance. The girl in question had flashed a face-splitting smile upon hearing that news, obviously taking it as a good sign. Lehrgen has been inclined to agree. Oskar Lang even sat on the right committee to debate matters such as the one Tanya was presenting. Given the current atmosphere of the room, he'd have to conclude that the both of them had been wrong.

If Lehrgen were to hazard a guess, he'd say both employees of the _Reichsbank _had come by for no other reason than to shout at the Imperial Army for getting above itself after it had so recently been put in its place. The members of each institution were equally patriotic, in their own ways, and that was what put them at odds. Even prior to the war, certain people within the bank had thought the amount of spending the Army did was positively ruinous. For its part, the Army wasn't used to having to justify its expenditures anywhere but internally. None of the high-ranking officers had taken that new imposition gracefully.

For the preceding half-hour, Degurechaff had done almost nothing but get yelled at. Finally, in the last few minutes she'd decided it was time to argue back. She was easily a match for both men when it came to theory, though certain specific details did appear to trouble her.

"Mortgaging government assets to a foreign government is preposterous," Fischer practically shouted, pointing angrily at the document in front of him.

Though Lehrgen trusted that Degurechaff was smart enough to see the risks and had determined they were worth it, he had to say he agreed with the bankers in this instance. He no longer had his own copy of her work in front of him, that having been handed over to their surprise guest, but he'd remembered feeling suspicious of the idea when he'd read it.

He was glad he hadn't requested more than a single additional copy. It had never occurred to him that she'd be preparing it herself, or that she'd work over the Christmas holiday to do so. He could add typing to her eclectic skillset. He'd gotten several disapproving remarks over that. Not directed towards her, of course, but towards him.

He'd fruitlessly tried to explain that she'd come in by choice, but it had largely fallen on deaf ears. Few people were willing to believe anyone would work on Christmas unless their tyrannical boss demanded it, and it was seen as particularly egregious because he was making a young lady sacrifice time she should be spending having fun.

After a few failed attempts, he'd decided to stop arguing with his sympathetic coworkers. They didn't know her well enough to know that the only reason Degurechaff understood the word _fun _in a typical sense was because it was in the dictionary.

"I'm not recommending we transact directly with a foreign government, and I don't believe the Federal Reserve can issue loans directly to us in any case. We would be dealing with foreign banks, not foreign governments," Degurechaff reiterated calmly, as Lehrgen turned his ear back to the debate at hand.

"We already have plans to stabilize the economy," Fischer bit back. "And without foreign assistance."

"Stabilizing and growing are two different things," Degurechaff said with a sigh. "Internationally, nobody will trust our currency no matter how we redenominate it, not until our economy looks like it's going somewhere again. We're an industrial economy. And one that unfortunately must import most raw materials besides coal. Until we can buy those at a fair price, we're stuck barely subsisting."

"It's still a very unusual way of doing business," Lang grumbled, cutting in.

"The best money is to be made doing unusual business," Degurechaff replied, grinning wickedly, "the Americans are greedy. They'll see that. So long as it isn't illegal, there's no issue from our side."

Lehrgen kept in his own grin. If Tanya could just stick to circumventing banking regulations instead of war crimes, the next twenty years might not be anything to fear.

"The American economy is strong, the banks all have other places to lend their capital, and likely at a higher rate than the Reichsbank is willing to pay," Lang responded.

"Excuse me for saying it, but that's where you're wrong," Degurechaff said, shaking her head. "Their economy is so strong they have too much money on their hands. There's only so many real assets to go around. At some point it all becomes speculation. As long as at least one of their banks is smart enough to realize that, they should be interested in having a new place to make loans backed by tangible cash flows, which we are more than capable of providing as soon as we dig ourselves out of this hole."

With a huff, Lang gave a single nod of agreement, though he wasn't finished objecting.

"They've got enough money tied up in Europa as it is. No reputable bank will want to take on more risk on the continent," Lang countered.

"And they want to make sure that the loans they've already made don't grow any riskier," Degurechaff reasoned. "The banks are owed payments from the Republic. Our reparations payments to them aren't enormous, but the Republic is struggling as it is. If our own economy gets worse, the Empire might halt those payments, if only temporarily. The Empire and the Republic are two of Europa's most important economies. The Americans don't want to see either of us in distress, especially not if it means the Federation has a chance to gain more influence. Either one of our countries is liable for a revolution if things go south."

Fischer opened his mouth to interrupt, but she didn't allow it.

"The American banks could afford some defaults on the Republic's payments. I understand. But unless we're reading different newspapers, the banks have been disinclined to negotiate a delay or reduction in the Republic's debts. It's illogical, but they're unwilling to take a write-off. They'll double down on their risk to chase the payoff they want," she argued, pulling a few clippings from various papers out of a file she'd prepared.

"Investors are irrationally concerned over losses. It makes them short-sighted. When everybody's making so many profits they can't figure out how to spend them, no company wants to be the one taking a loss. They'd rather gamble everything and hope for a win than quit while they still can, knowing they'll lose what they've already put in," she finished.

"And if that were the case, then why would they not simply renew their loans to the Republic as they come due?" Fischer asked, raising an eyebrow smugly like he'd caught Degurechaff in a logical trap.

"They may be willing to take on more risk, but I'm sure they'd like to diversify it," she replied, arms making as though she was going to cross them before they were pinned tightly behind her back, the white knuckles on one hand holding the other wrist the only evidence of her annoyance. "Even with the territorial losses, our economy has more potential than any other in Europa. We have a manufacturing base that nobody can compete with. Once things are running smoothly again, we're less of a risk than the Republic is."

Lang and Fischer glanced between themselves and some of the tension drained from the room, both of their attitudes growing more conciliatory.

"Running smoothly will require more money than this," Lang said, pointing at the figures listed in an appendix.

"True," Degurechaff said, noticing the change and backing down herself. "It's not that I don't share your concerns about using foreign money, I simply take a different position on its necessity. But, as stated within the paper, we should limit ourselves in how many loans we're willing to take out. Once our businesses can work in the international market again, we should aim for steady growth, not a windfall."

"Once the economy is in better shape we could take loans from elsewhere," Fischer reasoned.

"The Commonwealth and the Republic will be affected by anything that happens in the States," Degurechaff contradicted. "We could loan money from another nation, but there's hardly any point. The pound, the dollar, and the franc are what's accepted internationally. Holding excess reserves of the ruble or the yuan or the bolivar isn't going to get us very far."

"The lady has a point," Lang conceded, with a small quirk of the lips. "Or she would, if we saw a financial crisis looming in the States."

"I mean no insult," the lady in question, if you could call her that, replied, with the fakest smile Lehrgen had ever seen plastered on her face, "but if we could accurately predict financial crises, we wouldn't have them. All I'm asking is that my proposal be considered seriously. If the _Reichsbank _finds it useful, there's no harm in floating it with a few of the big American institutions. If they aren't interested, they aren't interested."

Fischer gave a good-natured sigh of defeat and looked at Lang, who nodded. "We'll submit this to the appropriate committee," he promised. "It will be nice to have a new idea to argue over, at the very least."

Degurechaff's smile was real this time as she shook both of their hands. She turned back to Lehrgen after the door was shut and they were alone.

"For a minute there I thought I'd started world war three," she chuckled, shaking her head.

_Three?! _Lehrgen thought with consternation. Not that he hadn't had some malicious predictions about her intentions over involving their country in a second war, but that she thought it was so likely to come to pass that she was already past thinking about it and was hoping for a third was a level of ambition he hadn't realized that even Degurechaff might possess.

"I'll hope that never happens," he sighed, with a shake of his head, revising a thought he'd had earlier. The next twenty years would absolutely be difficult for him.

xXx

Oskar Lang, a concerned citizen of the North Germanian Empire but economist first, waved down a taxi as he tried to pull his coat tighter against the chill of the night. He might have to cut back on those holidays abroad soon, the ones that included more and better food than you could purchase in the Empire at the moment. That, or ask the tailor to adjust his favorite piece of winter wear. Again.

"Where to, sir?" the driver asked him.

Lang glanced down at his watch. Too late to go back to the office. None of the girls would be there at this hour. With a grunt of displeasure, he gave his home address.

First thing the next morning, he found the smartest of the lot, who could actually incorporate commentary into a document without making it sound like one of Lang's grandchildren had typed it.

"Here," he said, presenting the bright young thing with the trove of academic papers he'd taken off that general who probably couldn't tell you the difference between forward and futures contracts. That clerk of his would do well at a bank, but anyone who hired her would have to fear she'd replace them within a matter of years. Not the type of person he'd want to take on. Passed over in favor of your own subordinate, and a woman a quarter of his age at that.

"Add the notes I took into the appropriate places," he instructed. "Make it sound readable. And redo the cover page, put myself as the preparer with Fischer as a contributor."

He'd thought about making some adjustments to the overly-rosy predictions in the charts, but had decided against that particular change. Too much honesty was never useful to anyone. For that same reason, putting down the name of some soldier-turned-office girl would be unwise, even if he'd like to share the credit. It would get neither of them anything but laughed out of the room.

"Very good, sir," his favorite typist smiled, already beginning to flip through the pages to see where she'd need to do the most work.

"I expect it back on my desk tomorrow morning," he replied. "And twenty copies by the end of the week."

Once those were in his hands, it would be time to sit in on another of those horrid committee meetings he'd been attending every day since he'd stepped foot into the bank. The debates themselves weren't horrid. Indeed, they were quite edifying. What was horrid was that the debates never launched off of any novel ideas of his own. He was a man who preferred to consider fully before acting. With a crisis in the works, having a novel idea was more important than a perfect one. At long last, he'd finally be getting to take the floor.

* * *

_A/N: Yeah, yeah, economics is boring, and you probably didn't realize you were signing up for Tanya's macro econ 204 lesson when you started a story about people getting married, but we have to let Tanya single-handedly save Germany from hyperinflation somehow...Ok, even she's not that good. The economy is better than real life Weimar's, and she's not completely fixing it anyway. I like to think Being X is in the background stamping Deus Lo Vult on all her papers so she can get to the part where she screws herself over even faster._

_I guess we don't know for a fact that Salaryman knew anything about economics. Despite the name, being an adherent to the Chicago School could just mean he likes their ideas of how rational expectations theory can explain behavior outside of the marketplace. I'm taking the tack that he also knows about actual economics, maybe had to brush up on the more difficult parts in the past ~5 years, but had a solid baseline plus the help of remembering the outlines of ideas from the future which would seem semi-revolutionary in the past. I'm going to be assigning some random hobbies/talents to Salaryman which I think all have believable explanations but who knows. If you have any ideas of what you think he got up to in his free time, feel free to make a suggestion._

_Just in case people mistakenly believe I am capable of coming up with my own ideas, I am largely adapting actual historical events. This, for example, was part of the Dawes Plan._


	15. My Brilliant Friend

.

**February 7, 1930  
Lichterfelde, Imperial Capital Berun**

_To your positions. Return fire. Hold them here._

The sound of a gunshot slicing cleanly through cold night air triggered an automatic response. He hadn't been one of the unlucky ones huddled for week on miserable week listening to the near-constant rap of magazines emptying, but it had been enough. Enough that shouting orders in the face of gunfire had become almost instinctive.

_You're at home_, Erich von Lehrgen told himself a third time, registering the familiar seams and dips of the cushions under him. They were reassuringly concrete, a distinct blend of plush padding and rigid piping no dream could emulate. He took a deep breath in and held it until it forced his heartbeat to slow. _It was just an engine backfiring,_ he decided, when there was no further noise besides that of a car trundling along as it turned right onto the main street, heading towards central Berun.

Still half in a doze, he picked up his book from where it lay fallen on the floor. Eyes squinting against lamplight as they adjusted to wakefulness with the same lack of enthusiasm as the rest of his body, he thumbed back to the last thing he remembered reading, smoothing out corners crinkled from a haphazard landing as he went. While he found the page he reached lazily towards the table on his right in search of the old postcard he'd long ago repurposed as a bookmark, then turned his head when he didn't feel it under his hand.

A glance was enough to tell him it wasn't anywhere on the table, which briefly made rolling sideways off the couch and onto the floor an attractive option. A way to look below the furniture that involved the minimum level of disruption to his present circumstances underneath a blanket. An indulgence in lethargy, an homage to the end of the week and to the late hour. His memory would be the only witness. It was precisely that which made him toss off the protective layer to kneel down and find the truant card in a manner he told himself was more dignified. His own good judgement underpinned rather important decisions these days.

He fished the postcard out from beneath the sofa. With a shake of his wrist to remove the light coating of dust - he wouldn't fault the maid for not moving the furniture to clean every single week - he went to return the bookmark to its rightful place. He paused before it got there and gave it a read. It was something seen so often it was never looked at, a piece of his daily life for so many years he'd forgotten what was written on it. It was the first communication he'd received when he'd been posted up in Londinium. More than ten years ago now, nothing more than a hello from home where everyone had written a few words and put their signature down.

Lehrgen gave a smile at the memory and put the card back into its rightful place a quarter of the way through _The Sound and the Fury_. Oddly appropriate, given the situation, that the postcard was stuck inside a book written in Albionian. The wrong country, the language originated in the Commonwealth and Folkner was from the States so far as he knew, but nonetheless, that posting was the reason he knew the language well enough to have bought the untranslated version.

He put a hand to the table to help him stand and looked towards the clock. It was just far enough away that he had a hard time making out the position of the hands in the dim light. He picked up his glasses, which he'd removed when he'd lain down to read, and for good measure picked up the nearly empty wine glass next to them and polished off the remainder of its contents.

_Yet another exhilarating Friday night_, he chuckled to himself, taking the now empty glass to the kitchen so it could be filled with enough water to prevent any red residue from sticking to the bottom. He still had a scar on his hand from the first time he'd tried to scrub a stubborn stain off and broke the glass when he gripped too hard. He'd been more careful ever since. He'd also bought cheaper but sturdier wine glasses for day-to-day use. On any other night, he would have washed it then and there, a self-enforced clean-sink policy in effect, but he was too tired.

_Asleep on the couch before eleven_, his thoughts continued, accompanied by a self-pitying shake of his head. Already, he'd become exactly the person he'd sworn to his friends he wouldn't when his job had grown into academic work that followed him home whenever he let it.

With great satisfaction he exchanged his kitchen sink for his bathroom sink, and began the process of getting ready for bed. At this point, he was far more interested in embracing whatever dull routine he'd fallen into than he was in discovering what went on in Berun past midnight.

With somewhat less satisfaction, he shivered as ice-cold water splashed his face, the task unpleasant enough that it was more of a quick wipe than a proper rinse. A swish of mouthwash that left an antiseptic sting in its wake and he was ready to give sleep another try, this time in a real bed. Not his own. Not tonight. He was in no mood to be awoken again in such an unpleasant fashion, and his room faced the street. He'd opened the door to the one bedroom that faced the back corner of his lot, the one that had no views over either street or alley.

He cracked open a window to let fresh night air in so that it might clear out the strange and peculiar scent that even the cleanest room carried after being shut up too long. It didn't bother him half so much as the strange and peculiar dreams he'd been having recently, but there existed no fix so similarly easy to clear those out of his head.

He doubted if there was a single soldier who'd come through the war without a nightmare or two following in the months afterwards. Even those who hadn't spent a moment of their time on the front would have to contend with imaginations where a failure to execute their duties properly led to some critical mistake or other that doomed them all.

_Well, maybe there's one soldier_, he conceded, a cruel smile on a child's face popping into his head. _But only one_. You had to be afraid of something to have nightmares over it, and fear did not come easily to her. To him either, with the exception of the past few weeks. He could bear hardship as well as the next man. Had grown up believing war a necessary part of life for any nation, that it was a good challenge, even, a test to prove the character of state and soldier alike. It was when a nation's life became nothing but that his certainty his work was worthwhile failed him.

He'd tried not to think too hard on it at the time, but ever since he'd heard Degurechaff drop a mention of a third world war so nonchalantly the phrase crept its way into his mind each time it began to wander. His sleep since had been at best fitful, scenes out of some bleak sci-fi novel conjured into being behind his eyelids each time they closed.

There was no helping it. He'd never sleep a night through again if he didn't at least try to prevent her dark vision of the future from coming true.

He allowed himself another moment in bed and a single groan of malcontent muffled by the nearest pillow before he heaved himself upwards and flicked the light back on. There would be a day, one day, when work didn't encroach on his last refuge from it. Probably. He had to hope so.

Quietly, he retrieved his robe and padded down the stairs, wincing when one of them creaked under his weight, the sound echoing loudly through an otherwise empty home. It felt somehow disrespectful to disturb the silence, like the house belonged to itself after a certain hour and he was infringing on their arrangement.

He took his seat at his desk, and seeing as it was a Friday night and he'd already broken one household rule, he leaned back in his chair and kicked his feet up, lacing his fingers over his head and closing his eyes to think. It was so pointless as to almost toe the line of the absurd, to sit in the cold and the dark stressing over some improbable future that he might not even live long enough to see. Especially not when he had a more immediate problem he was expected to recommend an answer for in a little over a week's time.

By the end of spring, they'd run up against a major deadline for disarmament. To ask them to destroy the work of the countless man-hours needed to build the weapons that had made them Europa's single greatest power would be to ask the men involved to turn a blind eye to waste. Of course, no institution as large as the Imperial Army could exist without an often elaborately byzantine bureaucracy that introduced opportunities for misspent time and funds. That didn't mean anybody made a career in the military expecting it to be a ready source of illicit personal enrichment. On the whole, the Army had run a tighter ship than the Navy, so to speak. To officers baptized in a culture of prudence, waste and excess on the level they were talking would be something of a cardinal sin.

Even worse than destroying their own work was their other choice: selling it to the very same countries forcing them to disarm, and doing it below market value. And if both options were off the table, it left only one, to cling onto their weapons and do so in secret. It was in no one's best interest to do that, not even the Empire's own.

Caught with a handful of extras they could blame human error. Caught with perhaps a quarter of what was meant for the scrap pile and they might plead paranoia and find an audience willing to believe three unannounced invasions had indelibly scarred the national psyche. Caught with the better part of their stockpiles intact and what little trust the other powers had in them would melt away, leaving them no choice but to eviscerate their beaten enemy, finish the job once and for all.

Stretching slightly and tilting his head back further, he racked his brain for a solution that would satisfy their obligations without betraying his duty to what remained of his country.

Outright destruction was probably for the best, at least for the larger part of it. The most he could do was to find a way to conceal a few critical items, stash them away under the pretense that they'd forgotten about that one depot. Things that could one day help provide the core of what they'd need once the Empire had won back the dignity of fully securing its own borders again. Or slow down an invasion long enough for someone else to intervene on their behalf. The trick was, Lehrgen would need to coax the better half of his leadership into committing definitively to that position instead of the endless speculating about nonexistent options they'd been doing for the past six months.

As luck would have it, there was one person who he was sure would be up to the task of inventing an unassailable argument in support of shipping the majority of their machinery off to the junkyard, and she worked for him. As luck would also have it, she was the one person Lehrgen couldn't seek an answer from. He'd have Degurechaff's letter of resignation in hand no more than an hour after the fact. A tragic turn of events after he was finally beginning to believe his Friday evenings weren't going to be spent locked in his office reading things and signing them until the end of eternity. Orb or no, she deserved the title of magician. Paperwork had a habit of disappearing for good in her presence.

_I'm on my own for this one_, he thought, as he wrote out unnecessary details on the pad of paper he was holding in front of him so he at least had something on the page. A title, a date, an author. A way of pretending he'd accomplished something. If he wanted to count proving that he could pass the second grade among his list of accomplishments, that would even be true.

Moments later, that same paper was a crumpled ball in the waste bin. All his life, he'd walked two steps ahead of everyone else. Always turning back to make sure they weren't gaining on him, always afraid that if he slowed for a second they would. In childhood, he'd been awarded first place in the little world he lived in purely by luck. The older he'd grown, the more it had taken to stay near the top. He'd worked hard to be there.

He began to write again. Starting from the right premise this time. He wouldn't doom his work to inferiority from the outset.

The realization that life was larger than his pocket of Imperial countryside, that there was another race being run, a special one for those singularities who could invent the inconceivable and explain the incomprehensible, hadn't disrupted his own competition. It was separate, something he'd never be a part of, and didn't need to be. Not to do the job in front of him, do it on his own, and do it so well there could be no question he had indeed earned his position.

The key to starting a difficult task was to start with the simplest part of it. Once you were halfway up the hill, climbing the rest didn't seem so bad.

Out of all their options, one stood out as an obvious least favorite. Regardless, it had to be given equal treatment, proposed and weighed and then refuted. That wouldn't be much of a challenge. Someone could practically argue the case against selling arms to countries that bordered them without being literate.

_But if they didn't share a border?_ Lehrgen thought, bringing his feet back to the floor with a soft thud and straightening up as an idea struck him.

It was no secret to anyone who read _The Times_ that half of Londinium thought the terms of the agreement too favorable to Republican and Federation interests. The Commonwealth's mistake had been coming to the table with something reasonable. Had they opened demanding terms nobody would agree to - punitive sanctions on nations that had kicked off the war, say - a place resembling the middle ground might have been reached. As it was, every compromise the Commonwealth had made only tipped the balance towards an unsustainable system.

It wasn't outside the realm of possibility to imagine that neither the Commonwealth nor the Unified States would raise alarm bells if the final destination of certain weaponry was elsewhere than originally intended, provided that destination was sufficiently far away. Provided also that it wasn't used to arm territory that either country thought part of its own sphere, formally or informally.

For as long as Lehrgen could remember, the Akitsushima Dominion had had ambitions beyond their islands. A willing buyer for what the Empire was looking to sell if there ever was one. Hell, the Anglo countries might even be pleased to hear the Federation would face a credible threat out of the east. Plus, it was a chance to curry favor with a country that had no worse than a neutral opinion on the Empire. Perhaps even the basis of a future anti-Federation alliance.

Convincing Degurechaff to assist in that sort of venture wouldn't be terribly difficult, or at least he didn't think. A healthy influx of cash, weapons sent somewhere they wouldn't be a danger to anyone, and if it came down to it, he'd tell her they were trading goods that would be obsolete by the time they were used again for the money to build new ones. It would be half-true on both counts. Ten or more years into the future and what arms they had now would begin rapidly depreciating in usefulness. And if the Empire was restricted on the quantity of its possessions, they had little choice but to pour their resources into quality.

Lehrgen rubbed the juncture of shoulder and neck with his spare hand, some tension melting away at the thought of their overabundant armaments sailing away far beyond the reach of Degurechaff or anyone with a like mind. Whatever plans she had for a second world war would be delayed by five years or more if he could guarantee they had to rebuild their inventories up from more reasonable levels. From there, she could see about a third.

A few quick notes were all he needed to make, only enough to serve as a reminder for guiding his thoughts when he headed into the office the next morning. Midnight epiphanies had a habit of disappearing if they weren't recorded. Once he'd done that, he made his way back upstairs, stopping to fix a tilted picture-frame along the way, walking this time with purpose instead of trying to slink around his own home like an intruder.

By the time Monday morning rolled around, two nights in a row of untroubled sleep had almost buoyed what was fast becoming a perpetually dour mood enough that he flirted with the idea of dropping by to see Tanya. She never came seeking assistance or begging for more time to finish a project, so if he didn't go to her, he'd have to wait until promptly one o'clock on Tuesday.

An eagerness encouraged him to wander out of his office and down the hall, an anticipation. Always two steps ahead, until one day he'd chanced to glance forward and caught sight of someone rounding the bend far up ahead. Having her report to him was like having a tether that let him keep pace with her. But until she had time to rethink her own plans, for that brief, temporary, fleeting moment, he'd be two steps in front again.

It was only the sense that an off-schedule sighting would be a bad omen, an unpropitious start to his week that would poison claiming an early victory, that stopped him before he got carried away and made him wait the intervening day and a half.

As had become their habit, Degurechaff seated herself at the round table in one corner of his office. Lehrgen rose from his desk to join her. Sitting across from each other had fallen out of fashion as soon as they realized how much time they were wasting passing paper back and forth.

Her work always came presented in an orderly fashion. A different folder for each project, a cover sheet on every one with the current status, the highest priority items on the top of the stack. She placed the pile down between them and pulled absently at her shirt to straighten it, the motion something of a routine, like brushing invisible specks of dust off.

Lehrgen let the meeting run as usual, flipping through current work first. On a typical day, that left anywhere from fifteen minutes to an hour free, time to cover anything outside the original agenda. Once or twice they'd cut their time short. Most days they filled the two hours completely. A new assignment, some quibble of Tanya's about the way things were done, an analysis of whatever topic had graced the headlines that day, however it happened, the time got away from them. The end of their meetings had as much of a pattern as the beginning, his adjutant knocking at the door to announce his next appointment, Tanya saying she'd let him get back to real work or some variation thereof.

When each folder in their current stack had been opened, reviewed, and returned to the pile, she glanced up at him. Outside of three occasions when she'd had something on her mind that couldn't wait, she gave a slight pause to allow him the space to speak first, a subdued sort of respectfulness that would make it impossible to guess that she excelled at brazenly making up her own orders and shouting them across a battlefield.

"I had a thought over the weekend," Lehrgen said, using his thumb to push the cap of his pen off and back on a few times while he watched Degurechaff's face to see if she'd have any sort of reaction to an original thought that didn't come from her own mouth.

She clasped her hands on the table in front of her and leaned forward slightly, head tilting minutely as she waited for him to continue.

"You know the disarmament deadline is coming up?"

She gave a single, curt nod.

"Neither of our options is good."

"I was starting to get the sense that concealment was the favored position."

"It's not. Or at least it shouldn't be. You said it yourself a month ago. The worst move would be to force a conflict too soon."

She inhaled slowly, letting the breath out with the same control. It had been a bit low to use her own words against her. Combined with whatever disappointment his firm denial caused and it was no secret why she needed to reign in her reaction.

"It's better if we invest in new and better weaponry, even if there is less of it," he said hesitantly, an attempt at a peace offering.

"And your thoughts on what we do with the rest, sir?" she asked after a moment of silence.

"We could sell them elsewhere. Somewhere they couldn't be used against us, to a buyer willing to pay a fair price."

He took a few sheets of paper from his own folio and slid them towards her. A list was all it was, what they had, what they had to get rid of, what items would be in highest demand, price estimates for each. A list so long that tabulating it had been instructive. Lampooning Republican journalists for their artistic license when it came to hyperbole was a favorite pastime for any Imperial citizen. In this case, Lehrgen didn't think he could criticize them in good conscience anymore.

"And how do you suppose we slip a shipment of that size, going that distance, under everyone's nose?"

"We don't," Lehrgen replied. "Globally, shipping is more or less controlled by the Commonwealth and the States. There's no love lost there, but they don't take such a hard line as our immediate neighbors. And if we assume the Commonwealth doesn't want to give another Europaen state the chance to accrue power, they may let us pass weapons through without putting the word out. It's at least worth asking."

"That might be true," Degurechaff nodded.

"I'm not sure how closely you follow politics on the other side of the world, but the Akitsushima Dominion has a healthy appetite for expansionism."

"I'm well aware," she said, with a roll of her eyes and a shake of her head. "But…"

"But?" he asked, disappointment that she'd already found an objection beginning to sink in. He kicked himself a moment later for thinking her reaction would be any different. She wouldn't be herself if she let veritable mountains of weapons slip away without a fight.

"Just…" she drifted off, closing her eyes and drumming two fingers against her forehead a few times. "Just let me think for a second if you would, sir."

"By all means," he replied, smiling at the gesture. If only she knew how many times she'd caused a passingly similar reaction in him, those times he didn't have a ready response formed without a few moments taken to process the implications of what she'd said. It would be better to get her complaints dealt with and out of the way than to try to force her to work on a project whose aim she fundamentally disagreed with.

"It's not a bad idea," she said slowly after a minute. "A very good one, in fact. I should have thought of it myself. I admit I may have been too convinced we were going to try to stash the weapons away to imagine another fate for them. I hadn't heard any movement one way or the other on getting rid of them."

Lehrgen dipped his head in acknowledgement, wondering if she'd ever said that particular phrase to anyone before, _I should have thought of it myself_. He'd try to forget about the part where she'd mentioned it had never entered her mind that the Imperial Army would actually make an attempt to comply with its obligations.

"If you're thinking the east is the best bet, what would you say to selling to the Middle Kingdom instead?" she continued.

_That was not the objection I was expecting_, Lehrgen thought with confusion, giving a shrug and spreading his palms, very willing to be convinced. It mattered little to him one way or the other. He'd made his choice based on nothing more than which nation he assumed would be willing to pay a better price. If she wasn't going to fight him on the main objective, he wasn't going to fight her on the details.

"If we sell arms to the Dominion, there's a chance those same weapons will show up on the Federation's eastern border within a few years. The Akitsushimans could decide it's time for a second round whenever they choose. The Federation would have to know those came from us. It would give up the ruse too soon. In the immediate future, the Middle Kingdom will only use them internally. Word might leak out about the odd piece of Imperial equipment, but that could just as well be something one of our enemies captured during the war and sold."

"True," Lehrgen conceded. "The less notice the better. Though it is disappointing nothing will be used against the Federation. I expected you'd share that particular sentiment."

"I do," Tanya said, with a smirking sort of smile. "I wouldn't be agreeing to this so easily if I didn't think it would cause problems for them one day. The Middle Kingdom shares a far longer border with them. If we help their civil war resolve favorably for the government in power and they unite the country under their rule, they'll be force to reckon with. But there will be enough years in between to soften our neighbors up so they won't react so badly when they find out."

_Ahh_, Lehrgen thought, satisfied that he'd figured out the reason why she was so willing to play along with his plan when it ran counter to hers. With a slight alteration, sell to this country instead of that, she'd already found a way to maneuver their greatest threat into facing the possibility of a two-front war. Not bad, exactly, but dangerous if it came too soon.

"That civil war hardly deserves the name," Lehrgen said, waving his hand. Now he had a motive to stick with the Dominion as the buyer. "Plenty of countries have put down communist uprisings. We even had temporary socialist republics declared within our own borders."

She inhaled audibly and then bit her lip, like she had something to say but wasn't sure she should. Going into it, back when he'd hired her, he'd expected she'd give her unfiltered opinion no matter if he wanted it or not. She'd respected hierarchy to the degree that she had never directly disobeyed orders, but after all the times she'd unblinkingly given statements counter to all orthodoxy, it was with an increasing amount of shock that Lehrgen had begun to realize she often hesitated in bluntly disagreeing with him. The only reason he could come up with for the change was that in the Army she'd had no fear of getting outright fired. For now, she was employed largely based on his whim.

"You know Degurechaff," he started, wanting to break her of this before it formed into habit and made it even more impossible to trust what she was saying, "you are allowed to debate me. You aren't going to be shown the door because we have different opinions on a complicated issue. I expect you to do the work I ask of you and for you not to do anything that runs counter to the Army's current philosophy, but when it comes to a conversation like this, feel free to consider it one between equals."

"Well, in that case..." she began, glancing at him another time for confirmation. He nodded.

"You're oversimplifying things. I think the potential is there for a real revolution. Same as the Federation, the Kingdom modernized late and still has a huge underclass of peasant farmers who are little more than serfs, the country's too big to control easily. Even if they were losing, the rebels could retreat somewhere it would be hard to get to them and keep the fight going," she said, ticking off her reasons on her fingers.

"And no matter how long the odds are, if they win, that's a communist country that's not only large but populous. They could be a greater threat than the Federation one day. Not directly, maybe, but in other ways. If we were to arm the legal government of the Middle Kingdom, though, help them deal swiftly and heavy-handedly with the rebellion, we eliminate that risk."

"Fair enough," Lehrgen replied. In all this, he'd forgotten to consider the unlikely alternative where the Qin communists actually won. That did change the math. "We'll approach the Middle Kingdom first. Now, the reason I really wanted to speak to you is to see if we could come up with a way to put a veneer of legality on the whole operation. It might make it easier for the Commonwealth to excuse the transgression if technically it isn't one."

"I assume you have a copy of the treaty in here?" she asked.

With a nod he stood and walked towards an overstuffed bookshelf. After a brief struggle to create enough space to pull them out without ripping, he returned with a copy for each of them.

"The part we'll want is about forty pages in," he told her, so familiar with the document that he could swear he had certain passages memorized.

She nodded and flipped to it, then let out a whoosh of breath after a few minutes.

"Well?"

"Well, the terms of sale are stated fairly clearly," she told him with a wry laugh.

"And you don't think you're smarter than whoever wrote that thing?"

"Do you?"

"You wouldn't be here if I didn't."

Her eyes flickered off the page to look at him only for a second, annoyance and appreciation in equal measure notable before they fell back to the document. "I guess we'll see," she hummed.

"I don't suppose anyone would be willing to broker the sale?" she asked after a few minutes spent paging silently back and forth.

"Dacia, maybe," Lehrgen sighed. "Their defeat was so quick they didn't have time to hate us as much as the rest. But they'll know they're the only real option. They'll charge accordingly. Probably with a yearly fee on top of it to keep their mouths shut."

She clicked her tongue and dropped her eyes back to the pages in front of her to look for answers once again.

"We can't sell it to the Middle Kingdom. There's no way around that," she murmured another couple minutes later, eyes still transfixed on the words in front of her. "But there's nothing saying it can't be disposed of another way. It could be gifted. In return the buyer could purchase some property in the city at an inflated value to cover the cost. Or it could be leased."

"Leased into perpetuity sounds simplest to arrange."

"It's not real estate," she said, looking up. "It's a depreciating asset. No, we should make the term as short as possible. If the Kingdom's in the middle of dealing with their communist problem we can negotiate even better terms when it comes up for renewal."

"And how do we guarantee they honor that instead of just keeping it? It'll be halfway across the world by then, we can't retrieve it and the countries that could aren't going to lift a finger to help us."

"We'll negotiate a sale price as well, have them put the full value aside in a Waldstätten bank account that's got a neutral trustee, if they don't play fair, we don't return the money. I'll draw up a preliminary document for the financial arrangement. We should make sure we're allowed to use the principal in the interim. We could put it to good use," she explained, waving her hand like it was nothing more than a triviality.

Lehrgen had the feeling he was soon going to see another paper full of financial terms that made him feel vaguely helpless. If he had time to put his mind to the subject he was sure he could come to a solid understanding, but for now he'd have to stick with smiling and nodding along complacently like he knew what she was talking about.

"Good," he replied. "Very good, thank you. You think you could have something to give me by the time I have my meeting next week? If you have to push the deadline back on a few other items, don't worry about it."

"Not a problem," she said, getting up and then immediately plopping back down into her chair, shaking her finger like she'd just had another idea and wanted him to wait before he got up himself. "While we're at it, we should see if the Kingdom is interested in a loan of some of our other resources."

His brow furrowed for a moment, wondering what she could mean by that, before coming to the unfortunate conclusion that she was still using that word to refer to human beings.

"Am I to assume that by resources, you mean people?" he corrected.

"Yes," she said, smiling as though she was pleased that he'd understood her intentions. He didn't think his own point had made it through to her.

"It would be both noticeable and alarming to the rest of the world if part of our Army were to show up in the east. They don't exactly have many natural blondes over there. Plus, we have our hands full as it is."

"We aren't going to send a single member of our Army," she said patiently, shaking her head like she was a teacher lecturing a particularly thick student. "Private citizens, working for a private company, will, of their own volition, be contracted to work in a foreign country."

"We're going to send a mercenary army," he clarified, disapproval seeping into his tone. "You know as well as I do that'll cause nothing but trouble with-"

"General," she chided, interrupting him with an innocent smile on her face that belied her sarcastic tone, "we aren't living in the Medieval era anymore. Our country is home to many capable men and women who are going to make the wise decision to seek employment from a company headquartered in Waldstätte that provides privately-arranged security services."

"And how is that any different?"

She pulled a blank piece of paper out of the back of one of her folders.

"Pen?" she asked. "Mine's out of ink."

Silently, he handed his over, and a moment later she was drawing boxes. He was in for another thought experiment on circumventing inconvenient legalities if that was anything to go by.

"You just need to put enough distance in between everything. A large company in Waldstätte owns a group of smaller companies, one of which will be hired by a Qin company that offers security for local businesses. With the political instability, it would be no surprise if the demand for their services outstripped the supply of competent local hires, and perhaps they use another company to scout for them," she said, labeling each box with a purpose as she pointed at them.

"If some of the employees they bring in from abroad end up assisting the Middle Kingdom's army, there's too many layers in between to have any reasonable expectation that our government could or would trace exactly how our citizens are earning their incomes."

"Do any of these businesses actually exist as of right now? Or is the Army going to need to learn how to play entrepreneur?"

"Ideally, we'll make use of existing entities. A bit strange if everything's chartered on the same day. And most of them will be no more than fronts, at best a handful of people processing paperwork."

Lehrgen took a deep breath and looked at the page again. He could see how it would work, how they could claim to have overlooked that their citizens were fighting under a foreign flag. It would make them some money. Alleviate some unemployment. Nonetheless, it all rubbed him the wrong way. They were supposed to be reconstructing their country, not embroiling its people in further conflicts. There was too much of her in the idea for his liking, too much unswerving devotion to keeping the fight going somewhere, somehow.

"Look, Degurechaff," he sighed, the dreadful thought that she might apply for a new job with one of these companies once it was all set up crossing his mind with a shudder, "I appreciate the ingenuity. But I'm not sure it's the right...direction. Not for now, at least. We just got done with a war."

"Did we?" she laughed. "Sometimes it's hard to tell when each political party has their own group of hired muscle. Honestly, I'm half-inclined to suggest we plant someone in the KPD to feed this idea to them too. With any luck, they'll send some of their men overseas. If they're going to fight anyway, isn't it better they're doing it over there?"

Lehrgen resisted the urge to sigh again. Always. Always her arguments were so much more convincing that his own, said aloud or repeated in his own head. Pro and anti-Communist groups fighting in the streets of his city, or a city half a world away? It couldn't even be called a choice.

He leaned back so she wouldn't see the note he scrawled - that if they went through with this, one of the hiring requirements for any so-called security guards would be a clean service record - and then folded it to slip in a pocket.

"Well, I'll speak to someone who knows more than I do about legal dealings in other countries," he conceded, hoping someone else would reject this plan for him in a way that Degurechaff couldn't worm her way around.

"Ah, right," she commented, leaning forward so far she would need to stand to get closer, "you were acquainted with someone in the field, no? If it's someone you know, I could come along if you wouldn't mind. The more I understand about the specifics, the easier it will be next time we need to get something done."

_The next time you want to skirt the law, you mean_, Lehrgen thought, preventing a groan of exasperation from leaving his throat. _Don't include me so casually in your plans for world domination._

"Oh, umm," he hesitated, remembering her earlier fixation on the topic and casting about for a reason that he might be unwilling to introduce her, and then giving a mental apology to his friend once he found one, "he, ahh...he died."

"What?"

"Losing the war was too much for him, I guess. Heart gave out when the news was announced."

"How awful," Tanya muttered glumly.

_What the hell is it with you?_ Lehrgen questioned silently to the person across from him. She'd seen hundreds of people killed in front of her, if not thousands. Lost men under her own command, seen the reports of tens and then hundreds of thousands killed, had never batted an eye. And yet the death of some random civil servant, one who wasn't actually dead to begin with, was one she looked to be taking personally.

She looked so suddenly like a teenager battling her first bout of disillusionment with life that he almost reached out to pat her hand and give her some words of comfort. If all she wanted was some nefarious legal advice, there were a number of politicians who might know a thing or two about which laws were ripe for twisting. This one judge hadn't been her only hope.

When he caught himself, it was only Degurechaff's presence in the room that kept him from trying to literally knock some sense back into his head. It may have been pure conceit to think he had any chance of keeping up with her. Trying to get ahead of her had only given her the opportunity to use that tether he'd imagined was helping him to slingshot herself forward again. At the rate this was going, he would be the one hopping the fence over to her side and not the other way around.

"I'll find someone appropriate to take this matter to," he told her at the same time that he began wondering how much he'd have to pay her to return to her nunnery and manage their finances, or something else equally out-of-the-way, nodding at her pointedly to dismiss her.

"See you Thursday," she said, ducking her head deferentially and seeing herself out.

Once he was sure she was a safe distance down the hall, he got up, closed his door, and leaned against it for a moment, knocking the back of his head against it a few times and giving a sigh of frustration.

_One day_, he promised himself. _One day, I'll figure out how to make it so I don't have to worry about what she'll do to this world._

xXx

_One day_, Tanya Degurechaff told herself, putting her back to her office door while she sighed with relief and let her shoulders sag down. _One day, I won't have to worry this world will find a way to screw me over._

Honestly, it was like her boss wanted to hand the Empire a chance to go down the wrong path on a silver platter. Next thing she knew, she'd find him down in Ildoa hoping to make good on that alliance. Adults shouldn't need babysitters.

Tanya kicked a heel out, pushed her shoulders into the back of the door, and levered herself upright. She had work to do. Relaxing on the job wasn't helping anyone, least of all her.

Before she complained about her working conditions, she should try to change them. Not her daily working conditions. Those were fine. Her metaphysical working conditions, on the other hand, only got a C. Competent people in positions of power were supposed to make her life less complicated, not more.

If that was the world she had to live in, so be it. She had no exalted family name, nowhere close to enough money to buy influence, and her days of threatening anyone into compliance had ended when her orbs had been confiscated. That meant on the basis of merit alone, one of the Army's rising stars respected her opinion enough to call her an equal. She could work with that.

Smart, connected, ambitious, if that didn't say opportunity then nothing did. More than averting both a personal and country-wide financial disaster like she'd originally hoped, with someone like that on her side, she could avert a whole lot of other problems. Or at least give her an inside source to finally put her two steps ahead of the game. Constantly trying to stay afloat got old fast.

_Ahh, I forgot to give Lehrgen his pen back_, she realized, in the middle of putting her things away. He kept a busy schedule, so it would be better not to interrupt. She'd return it Thursday. In the meantime, he had others, and she could write with an expensive model for a change.

The product of such fine craftsmanship deserved to be put to use. On the back of an old page of notes, she wrote her name a few times. Like normal first, then an attempt at script. The result of that was dissatisfying. It looked nothing like the elegant, looping _T. Degurechaff _she saw on missives that came down the hall. She couldn't blame a faulty pen for her handwriting anymore.

She gave up on that and tried something she'd be better at - writing in another alphabet. Considering how infrequently she practiced, she was pleased with how neatly it came out. There was still something weird about reading her own name in katakana, though.

_Time to get rid of the evidence_, she told herself. A minor pyrotechnic spell was possible without an orb, but controlling it wasn't. A burnt hand would be a serious impediment to the work she'd promised to do, so she tore the paper in front of her into a few pieces instead. It wasn't like she was going to show it to the Akitsushiman ambassador. She'd felt a residual twinge of guilt directing aid away from them, but nostalgia was no excuse for suboptimal decision-making. If the Akitsushimans wanted to pick a fight with the Americans one day, they were on their own. Lending a hand with political suppression in the Middle Kingdom was a much safer and more lucrative venture. Any modern tech company could tell you that.

Better yet, if there was any chance that sending weapons to the anti-Communist cause would stop them before they got to the Long March, she'd seriously have to consider submitting herself for the Nobell Peace Prize. She'd even done it while simultaneously making a plan to move the more aggressive citizens of the Empire to the other side of the world. This was one time she deserved to be called a genius.

Regrettably, she'd probably be remembered in Japan for letting no amount of crying, yelling, or begging dissuade her from firing the people that deserved it. Nobody but her old bosses would know that what she'd really excelled in was the subtler art of reassigning underperforming employees to roles that fit their strengths better. Or if that wasn't an option, sticking them somewhere they couldn't do much damage until they realized it was time to quit.

Of course, in a world without transaction costs, immediate termination of non-ideal staff would have been her go-to option. As if Being X would send her to that type of fantasy world. Between interviews, background checks, training costs, lawsuits and public image, dismissal was always a last resort for any self-respecting corporate entity. The mark of a true human resources professional was the ability to work with the employees they were saddled with. The same went for citizens of her country.

The sad fact of it was that a worrying percentage of the Empire's population was addicted to violence to the degree that the absence of job openings in the official Army reduced them to forming up into militias and fighting amongst themselves instead of seeking gainful employment. It was no wonder the country had ended up in a second world war if that type of behavior was left unpunished.

If she had the power to revoke their citizenship and replace them with rational, peace-loving individuals like herself, their papers would be invalidated faster than she could bid them _Auf Nimmerwiedersehen_. Barring that, the next best option was to find a way to use them productively. There was a perfect job out there for everyone, if they were willing to look hard enough. Anyone who felt their true calling was to be a war maniac could be her guest in applying their passions to liberating the Qin people from the People's Liberation Army.

General von Lehrgen hadn't been what she'd call enthusiastic about that idea. He'd probably joined the Army to bring glory to the Empire or whatever. Former professional soldiers going mercenary didn't exactly sound like something that could be termed "glorious". He could call the job whatever he liked. If he was fine with the concept of a state paying some people to kill other people, she didn't see the sense in splitting hairs over whether patriotism or profit was the motive.

In the end, logic had won that argument, but the satisfaction of concluding in her favor had quickly evaporated. Her possible paths out of the Army shouldn't die off without doing the polite thing and giving some notice. It was like Being X had sensed she was getting too close to her dream job and had snatched it away.

Overall, it was a small complaint. A drop in the bucket compared to the news that she wouldn't have to cope with the fallout from gross violation of rearmament restrictions. Lehrgen had said something cryptic about new and better, but she wasn't going to lose any sleep over it. He hadn't seemed very serious about it, like he knew he was lying to himself. Everyone had to have some hope for the future to make it through the day.

By now, Tanya had finished pulling out the information she had on hand that could help her with her newest task. She put her pen to a clean piece of paper. Estimating how much the world's first modern private military organization should charge would be a fun exercise in market forces. It was a shame she wouldn't personally see any profits. If the American model was anything to go by, they were going to be raking in cash by the truckful.

She'd forego that income for another potential problem crossed off her list. It was another step closer to regaining the peace of her evenings. The funny thing about living in a nightmare was that it kept them away at night. Occasionally waking up in a cold sweat was an unexpected downside to having something to lose besides her life.

Last night she'd started in on getting sappy before she got a hold of herself. None of those adrenaline-junkies she'd called subordinates would be awake with the same problem. The only one who might commiserate was her only conscript of the lot. Frankly, she'd hope that a few nights of scarce sleep were the biggest of Visha's problems.

It was nights like that which made her want to crack open a beer. She didn't keep them on hand, so they were never there to help lull her back to sleep.

_Ahh really,_ she lectured herself, drawing up an outline of her ideas before she began writing in earnest,_ I sound like a middle-aged man. Next I'll be craving a midnight beer while I worry about the cost of school fees and wonder if my high school buddies are doing any better._

She bent her head down to her work, angrily crossing out a few lines when she realized she'd put them out of order in her distraction. She paused mid-stroke and shook herself.

_Of course I sound like a middle-aged man,_ she reminded herself, resuming her work. _Being a stereotype of one is what's the problem._

Exactly a week later, and she'd put the finishing touches on. It was hard not to grin smugly when General von Lehrgen gave a surprised but approving nod to the rest of her work completed on time as well. Please. Putting in some overtime with the hopes of coasting by easy twenty years down the road was the essence of the corporate work ethic. If she couldn't do that, she should quit and go find some dead-end job instead.

"Good work," Lehrgen told her, stacking the papers after giving them a read-through. "Glad you took advantage of the office typists this time."

"Official business, sir. And if I hadn't, this wouldn't have been ready in time for tomorrow's meeting," she replied. If she was going to get written up at work, it wouldn't be for something as trivial as inappropriate use of company resources.

"I gave General von Romel a heads up that this was coming," he said, as he stood up to leave. "He was - ahh - he was impressed."

Tanya composed herself and gave her best shot at a gracious smile. She'd been called up to his office twice since she'd been hired. So far, he'd been impervious to all discussions of the well-moneyed crowd he dealt with. All he wanted to do was kick up his heels and get teary-eyed over the past. Finally, this might herald a breakthrough with another important part of her network.

"Just…" Lehrgen began, rubbing at the back of his neck, "just, if any big ideas come to you, I'd like to hear them before you get too far. There's certain meetings I can't take you to, so I could provide some...insight you might be missing. Romel might be too busy to explain."

"Sure thing," she promised.

If Lehrgen was stressed she was going to try to overshadow him and threaten his job, she was happy to reassure him that she had no interest. She'd only want it if she were stuck back as a soldier. At that point, she'd give him something to worry about, any former friendship notwithstanding. Business had to come first. If either of them had any luck, it wouldn't come to that.

_And luck seems to be with us,_ Tanya reflected happily another week later when everything had been approved and sent along to their international partners. She had no luck to speak of, but her boss would be smart to get into gambling. Going an entire world war without training a gun on a single enemy soldier? If she believed in divine providence, that would be example number one.

It wasn't much more than a month later that she was running hands through her hair and staring down at what was about to become a final proposal. Other people had checked it, so the numbers weren't only her own calculations. That was no guarantee they hadn't fallen victim to some anchoring bias after they'd seen her initial projections. If she'd been wrong about those, it was possible she'd ruined it for everyone after her.

_It's better than nothing,_ she told herself, handing the final revisions off with a huff. She just hoped she'd padded it enough that they'd still make money once it was negotiated down. If she'd been wildly over the mark, she'd claim innocence. The transaction was nothing if not atypical, no good comps to work off of existed. Nobody could blame her for overvaluing the Empire's offerings. She'd only get in trouble for leaving money on the table.

When she received her copies back a few days later, she dutifully deposited one on her boss's desk on the way back to her own.

"Before I forget," she added, "make sure we get a gift for the ambassador."

Lehrgen didn't reply immediately. When she heard him clear his throat, she looked up. _Great_, she winced. _Someone doesn't approve._

"Degurechaff, are you suggesting we try to bribe him?"

_And if I were, would it matter?_ she wanted to ask. "Aboveboard" wasn't exactly the word of the day. Go through all the work to put a plan to dance around the law together and he was worried about gifts amounting to a handful of bills.

"It's a custom we should adhere to in order to appear respectful," she explained. It hadn't been particularly relevant in her old job, but any aspiring businessman learned how to deal with Chinese clients, just in case.

"I don't see why a fair and mutually beneficial transaction should require any extraneous personal gain."

"They won't see it that way. If we want to make a good impression, we should be polite and observe their way of doing business."

"And how would you know this is the custom?"

"Plenty of travelers who make their way over there feel the need to write a book when they get home, like eating shark suddenly means they're interesting."

"Not impressed by many travel memoirs?" Lehrgen asked with a laugh.

Tanya shook her head. Not that she'd actually read any, but it felt safe to say she wasn't going to be amazed by tales of strange eastern peoples. All that would be amazing would be to see how much the author could make mundane life sound exotic and incomprehensible.

Lehrgen pulled out a few bills and waved them her way.

"Buy something appropriate," he told her. "Since you seem to be the expert."

"Just an avid reader," she replied mildly to the sarcastic tone. Defusing was better than defensiveness, especially when you didn't know the reason behind it.

"Sorry," he apologized. "Just stress."

"Oh?"

The first rule of office politics: know your own standing within the company. The second rule: know your boss's.

There was a difference between a worker being valuable and that value being recognized. It was a mistake to think that just because she saw it everyone else did. Plus, excelling at keeping your nose to the grind and doing your work well didn't prepare anyone for the stab-behind-the-back-with-a-smile competition that defined the upper echelons of management. It was a skill she'd had to start working on once she'd realized where her career was heading. If Lehrgen needed some help with it, she could give him a few pointers. She'd also need to take some steps to make sure her career didn't falter on account of his.

"General von Schleichel will be the one closing the deal," he told her with a grimace.

"Is that a problem?"

Normally, outstanding employees didn't worry when their boss dropped by. Their Director of Operations was in the office only infrequently. Mostly, he rotated between cozying up to politicians for assistance and heading off to the regional armies, leaving the paperwork and day-to-day running of his staff to his dependable deputy in Berun.

"No, I just don't know him well and he's close with Romel, so it's important that the few meetings we do have go well."

"Is there a reason they wouldn't?"

"I suspect he wonders if I'm angling for his job. It's more complicated than that, but that's the gist of it."

"Are you not?"

"Once things are running smoothly enough that I don't have to spend my Friday nights catching up on work, then maybe," he said, shaking his head.

_Saying that after expecting me to outsmart an international treaty at the drop of a hat?_ Tanya scoffed to herself. Talk about high expectations. You couldn't put those on other people without having them for yourself. She'd been born without any advantages, and he had them all. You could practically say it was his duty to use them.

_Don't be lazy. Say you want to be some political big-shot one day or something,_ she muttered internally. As long as he didn't get an ego about it and listened to her advice when she rang him up, then she really would have nothing to worry about. She could try that route herself, but it would be a substantially more uphill climb. Anyways, the person pulling the strings in the background never had to worry about annoyances like assassination attempts. Let someone else feel the thrill of being shot at for a change.

"I'm sure Schleichel will have more pressing matters on his mind," she told him, tapping the hefty contract sitting on Lehrgen's desk. "There's no reason to hold yourself back."

"Let's hope so," he sighed. "Did I give you enough to buy what you need? If you want more-"

"It's a token of friendship, sir. Not a bribe," she reminded him.

"I'll be interested to know what you end up getting them," he said, waving her out.

Tanya turned around and left before she rolled her eyes. She never should have said a word. All it had done was put her in charge of shopping. Was it so much to ask for real work to do?

_On second thought, it's for the best,_ she thought a few minutes later. There was no way to predict what Lieutenant Sauer would have bought if Lehrgen had charged his adjutant with the job instead. Probably exactly what she was holding in her hands.

She'd walked into the first sort of high-end gift shop she found and asked for a piece of Imperial handiwork. She'd been presented with a set of knives forged by one of the country's best brands. Four glinting edges meant business in precisely the wrong way.

"Maybe something more...friendly," she suggested, handing them back.

"I paint these myself," the owner said, taking a nutcracker down off a shelf.

Tanya turned it over in her hands a few times. As a gift, it would definitely work. A novelty, but not a cheap or useless one. A cultural tradition. Everyone could appreciate the irony of one army gifting another a toy soldier. It was even painted the right colors, bright red and blue.

Personal dislike was no good reason to refuse to purchase it. She'd simply never liked them. The way their mouths were painted made them look like something really annoying would come out if they could speak.

She paid for it and asked the owner to wrap it so she wouldn't have to look at it any longer. The more it stared at her, the creepier it looked.

The damned thing left her apartment two days later when she handed it over gratefully with a bow to an ambassador surprised by the gesture. At that point, she didn't care whether he liked it or not, she only wanted it out of her possession. Its stupid face kept popping up in her dreams.

That over with, she settled at her seat in one of the Qin embassy's sumptuously appointed rooms and began to observe.

_Maybe we don't want to get rid of him,_ she thought, carefully considering Lehrgen's boss. _The Army could use more men like that in the lead_. A soldier on the ground caused operational headaches when he did anything besides apply a single-minded focus to completing his objective as quickly and directly as possible. A general near the top of the food chain caused international headaches if he was incapable of anything besides completing his objectives as quickly and directly as possible. Schleichel had avoided that pitfall and was more focused on establishing a relationship with their hosts than closing a deal before lunch.

For now, she'd work on getting some facetime and a baseline of trust between the two of them. She'd need to emphasize that her loyalty was to the organization, not to any particular person within it. It wasn't strictly true. There was one person working in the General Staff Office whose best interests she kept at heart. She'd never betray her own self. But by telling a little lie, her job would stay secure no matter what happened with her boss's career.

A positive impression of her chain of command was the first pleasant surprise of the day, but not the last. The group had taken a pause for lunch. Before it arrived, Tanya could smell that it was more than Imperial cooking coming from the kitchen.

There was no question that the basket that came out first had some type of dumpling waiting for her. Once she bit into a pork bun, there was also no question that she would be asking for seconds.

When the next dish came out, she couldn't wait to dip her chopsticks in. Or fork, rather. Her place setting had come with a fork. Asking for chopsticks would have looked strange.

Halfway through gulping her food down as slowly as she could make herself, she looked up at the rest of her party. Her boss was twirling his fork around hesitantly like he was trying to pick up noodles only. One member of her group was staring at the bean paste and tofu like it might be an enemy in disguise. All along, the key to destroying a Europaen army's morale had been simple. A wall of natto would be impenetrable. They'd be done for.

She was almost done for when she bit into something that set her mouth on fire. Tanya hadn't eaten anything truly spicy in her life and her tongue was quick to remind her of that fact. She could still feel the lingering heat on her lips well past the end of the meal. It provided an unwelcome distraction from the continuation of their pending arms sale.

She was so focused on it she almost didn't realize when they reached a standstill. The Qin ambassador flashed a note to his army attaché, one she could catch out of the corner of her eye. She couldn't get every character, but numbers were simple and unforgettable. The Kingdom was prepared to take the Empire's current offer. The trouble was, she was the only one that knew they didn't need to drop the price any further.

xXx

When it came down to it, most people were predictable.

Usually, it was no trouble for Brigadier General von Lehrgen to guess what someone was coming to see him for. That wasn't to say they never surprised him, but he could pick up on the patterns when they were there.

If it was someone from the training section, they were there because they knew he'd still lend a hand on personnel questions if he could. If it was someone from procurement, they were going to beg him to intercede with General von Romel on their behalf after he'd asked for something impossible. If it was his adjutant on a Friday afternoon, it was to check if he could leave early because he'd accidentally committed to two dates on the same night and now had to take one of them to an early dinner.

The endless repetition of office life had even managed to wrangle Tanya into a modicum of predictability. The mistake had been in getting complacent, in not realizing that once he brought her out of it, all bets were off again.

She was marching over to him too purposefully for a casual conversation. He couldn't begin to guess what for. All day she'd been acting strangely. And strangely for Degurechaff was saying something.

First, she'd remained utterly silent on the occasions that General von Schleichel had made inconsequential slip-ups when speaking about the document she'd prepared. She wasn't one to hold back, so he'd gotten ready to tap at her arm if she so much as opened her mouth. Against all odds, she'd behaved herself.

That paled in comparison to what had come next. The handful of times they'd shared a meal, she'd been nothing if not a picky eater. He'd never seen a clean plate once.

_Maybe she needs an outlet for risk-taking_, he'd thought with a shake of his head, watching her devour whatever was placed in front of her with a ravenousness he'd previously only associated with her appetite for blood. He couldn't pretend it hadn't been hard not to burst out laughing when she'd eaten something too spicy for her palate after being warned several times.

He shouldn't have let himself be surprised, but he was nonetheless given another shock not long after that when Degurechaff had revealed an inexplicably intimate level of knowledge over past and potential future conflicts between the Qin and Akitsushiman people. During what should have been easy banter over lunch, Lehrgen thought she'd gotten the whole table convinced that the Imperial Army's weapons might come in handy against enemies other than communists.

Both negotiating parties had broken apart a minute ago to consult amongst themselves as to their final offers. Apparently, something about that had prompted her to seek him out.

"We should stick to our last price," she said quietly, though there was a firmness to her tone regardless. She didn't need to shout for her voice to carry a ring of complete authority.

"Do you think they'll take it?"

"Yes," she stated simply.

A thought struck him then. A very silly thought, but it was out of his mouth before he knew what he was saying.

"Degurechaff, you can't…you couldn't read that note, could you?"

He'd seen her squinting curiously at the characters minutes before, but out of everything, that hadn't seemed strange at the time. He'd done the same. It was a fascinating way of writing.

She didn't even deign to answer, opting instead to give him a flat stare that told him he'd just asked her the stupidest question she'd heard in the past month.

"Never mind," he said quickly, with a shake of his head. "I just saw you looking at it and…never mind. How can you know they'll come up to our number?"

"Do you trust that I know what I'm talking about when it comes to finance?"

"You know more than I do, at any rate," he replied with a slight shrug.

"Then trust me on this, sir. Please."

"It's not me you need to convince," he said, giving a nod towards Schleichel. "I'm sure he already has a good impression of you courtesy of Romel. If one of us has to tell him how to do his job, he might take it better from you than from me. That doesn't mean you can press the issue."

"I wouldn't do that," she said firmly.

Lehrgen waited until her back was turned to shake his head. She had a rather sarcastic sense of humor, which he didn't mind so long as it wasn't directed his way. She'd deadpanned her last statement like it was God's honest truth.

She was right, as always. A few tense minutes of holding out and the Empire got the price they wanted.

"Take the rest of the day," he told her as they left. It was a bit early, but there was no point in making her return to work for no more than an hour or two before beginning the weekend. And anyway, he still owed her for Christmas.

Briefly, he wondered what she even did with her free time. For his mental health, he was probably better off not knowing. It was hard to imagine that Degurechaff had any wholesome hobbies like baking or volunteering, so he'd assume that all she did was read and study, and hope it wasn't something worse. He should verify that in any case. Today had proved that she was as capricious as she'd ever been.

The party stepped out to wait for their car, and Lehrgen looked up at the sky, wondering if he'd wake up to snow the next morning. In the past few weeks, winter had dwindled away quietly and given way to spring. Officially, today was the first day of the new season, and this morning had been balmy and breezy. The temperature had dropped precipitously while they'd been inside, and now held that curious thickness to it that presaged winter precipitation, as if the season was an old boxing master wanting to prove he had one more fight left in him before he retired.

A few seconds behind him, Tanya stepped outside with a curse. He looked towards her and saw she was wearing nothing more than a light jacket. It would have been perfectly comfortable earlier in the day, but if he was feeling the cold through his overcoat, hers was little better than nothing.

_I don't have to give her mine, right?_ he asked himself. He would have done it for any other woman, but..._She wouldn't do it for someone else,_ he concluded, deciding he was under no obligation to swap places with her.

He watched her walk towards the U-Bahn station in obvious misery, shoulders hunched and arms crossed over her middle, and then jogged a few steps to stop her. He'd belatedly realized the fault with his reasoning. It might be true that she wasn't the sort of person who had the common decency to help others in need, but denying her the favor would mean he was just as heartless. If there was one person he didn't want to be compared to on that count, it was Tanya. Plus, what would his coworkers say if they thought he was that petty?

"Here," he told her grudgingly, holding out his heavier coat. "I'll be in a packed car on the way back, and I keep an extra at the office."

She stared dubiously at it instead of grabbing for it, leaving them both locked in a shivering battle to see if her offensively impolite hesitation or his desire to adhere to the rules of polite society would win out.

"You can take mine instead if you think it will fit you better," General von Schleichel said, pausing as he made his way to the car. Degurechaff's head whipped around to the other man with the same look of unfounded concern.

Schleichel was halfway through taking his own off when he paused. "Actually, Ritter's the smallest of us all," he commented, peering around towards the driver. "I'm sure he'd be happy to lend his."

"I don't mean to trouble everyone," she coughed, snatching Lehrgen's coat away, which meant he could get into the car before he died of exposure.

He stifled a laugh at how silly she looked as she walked away, the coat swallowing her up to such a degree that it would be more accurate to say it wore her than the other way around, and then shook his head, still confused about what possible reason she could have had to refuse what might have been his first offer to her with no ulterior motive. Besides wanting the trophy for the most dangerous person in the office, she apparently had designs on the award for the most bizarre.

* * *

_A/N Wow, I now have over 50 whole people to inevitably disappoint. It feels like when I'm at work and spend half my day wondering when everyone's going to finally realize I don't know what I'm doing and get angry at me. Joking aside, I'm glad people are enjoying the fic so far :)_

_One thing I do think I should remind everyone of: this story is an interpersonal drama, and one with a currently ambiguous ending. I've added political/world events to give it realism & semi-valid reasons for things happening, but the overall intention is not for it to be a political story. I've tried to add humor, and at some point there will be a lot of misunderstandings and it might seem like I'm writing a slice-of-life comedy (this story was conceived as a longform crackfic but then I realized overall it was kinda dark so...?). The way the plot is constructed there is a lot of politics up front to set the stage, then for a while the two are just sort of interacting and leading normal lives, and then a lot happens all at once towards the end. Hopefully neither of the earlier parts is too boring, but tell me if it happens._

_Anyway, I appreciate each and every one of you so want to write you a story that's fun to read, even if it isn't always fun for the characters, so please call me out if your suspension of disbelief begins to falter. I know I eventually rely on contrivances, characters being excessively vague and dense, and some straight up plot magic (but this series does have a literal Deus Ex Machina, so...). I also have and will continue to touch on adult subjects. I try to keep it light._

_Thanks to all of you who read, follow, favorite, and especially review, it means a lot :)_


	16. There's a bad moon on the rise

.

**April 2, 1930  
Reichsbank Building, Imperial Capital Berun**

_Middling_. That was the word he was looking for. _Very middling._

From his seat at its head, Heinrich Schenk looked down the expanse of the empty table below him. It dominated the room, disproportionately long for its width, and it was wide enough to seat two at either end.

Minutes ago, the day's final meeting had adjourned, each of the men who occupied a spot at the grand table filing out in a column of black suits as somber as a funeral procession. Middling, each of them was. Uninspired, undistinguished, unremarkable. Relatively speaking, of course. These were the same men chosen to sit on the _Reichsbank's _central committee. Not a one of them was uneducated or unaccomplished. They were academic men, methodical men. Visionaries and activists they were not.

There was a reason Schenk had been appointed president of the bank and the rest hadn't. Someone had to be responsible for sliding the odd unorthodox recommendation into their debates. Someone had to be responsible for halting the debate in favor of taking action. Occasionally, other members of the board were capable of the former. Rarely, in the case of the latter.

Schenk paged through the stack of papers in front of him. Half a meter high and most of it not worth the ink it was typed with. Minor modifications and incremental improvements competing for recognition. Trifling as they were, not a single one had made it out of committee to land on his desk in the past few months. Busy as he'd been with redomininating their currency to have more backing it than the guarantee of a government that underwent a crisis of confidence every other week, he hadn't had the time to demand a stop to the endemic plague of conjecturing and theorizing that infected the board.

_Damn_, Schenk hissed to himself, glad to be alone in the room so he could suck at the smarting papercut on his thumb. It had caught him precisely at the worst angle. A drop of blood welled up to stain the bottom of the page, and he watched with morbid fascination as it spread, the paper's capillaries drawing a sort of branching pattern in bright red. He prayed it wasn't a sign.

With a curse towards whomever had typed the thing, he pulled it out. In a stroke of fortune, it was the very proposal he'd been looking for, the least unoriginal generated during the time he'd been unable to attend meetings regularly.

_Oskar Lang_, Schenk repeated to himself, finger tracing over the name of the author on the cover page. Middling even at being middling. Smart, very smart, no one could deny that. But a by-the-book bureaucrat if there ever was one. Every time an imaginative idea threatened to come out of his mouth, a thousand minor objections of procedure this and policy that shouted it back into oblivion. A man living out his creed that humans were created to be tools of obscure regulations and not the other way around.

Eyes on Lang's presentation, Schenk pushed his chair back and rose from his seat. His feet ambled aimlessly towards his office while he read it over another time. It was a solution to their economic predicament. One that he'd given thought to himself, though never in such a thorough manner. A solution he wasn't keen on unless and until it became necessary to consider. His country had done enough begging in the past two years. The rest of Europa could only be marginally less tired of hearing it than the Empire was of doing it.

He wasn't above reconsidering his position in light of concerns more broad-ranging than monetary ones. So long as the financial system wasn't failing, he was prepared to handle the economic fallout that would result from a few years of stumbling. The political fallout of the economic fallout was another beast entirely. And not one he'd like to find himself staring down in the wild.

"Gertrud," he asked, passing his assistant just before he opened the door to his office, "which of the girls typed this?"

"That was Frida, sir."

"Send her up, would you?"

Tall, lustrous dark hair, cheeks glowing with health, the woman shown into his office a few minutes later would have been quite pretty if not for her choice in lipstick. She worked at a central bank for God's sake, not in the back room at a club. For having been summoned with no warning to the president's office, she carried herself with a great deal of self-confidence.

"You aren't in trouble," he began, perhaps unnecessarily.

"I expected you hadn't felt the need to fire me personally, sir," she grinned. "What can I help you with?"

"Lang had you type this?"

"That he did."

"Dictate it to you? Give you his written notes?"

Her eyes darted down to the floor. Back to him. Back to the floor. She drew in a deep breath, then lifted her gaze steadily to meet his again.

"For my own knowledge," Schenk clarified. "Nothing more. I'm simply curious as to whether I've misread the man all these years."

"It came already typed. I only added the notes he'd made. Details and things."

"Came from where?"

"I don't know for sure, sir," she said, with a shake of her head. "Only it was the day after he went to meet someone at the old General Staff building."

Involuntarily, Schenk's eyebrows migrated into his hairline.

"Are you saying this came from the Army?"

Frida gave an uncaring shrug. "Could be a coincidence. Mr. Lang likes to tell me things. He mentioned he was going. He got all puffed up over it, wondering why some general or other was sticking his nose in our business. Next day he gave me this."

"Coincidence indeed," Schenk sniffed. "Thank you. Back to work now."

When Frida left, he reclined back in his chair. He'd expect the Army to be concerned about dissatisfied voters, alright. Concerned that there weren't more of them. With the right number of people behind the wrong politician they could regain their status as a minor deity that extracted a tithe more extravagant by the year.

When they had each been appointed care of their respective institutions, he and Romel could have come to a compromise on where to spend and where to save. Neither had the luxury of adding more troubles to an already-overflowing plate. Instead, Romel had put that smooth-talking Schleichel in charge of whispering in everyone's ears asking for a little more space in the budget here and a little less oversight there, with not a word of thanks or explanation to the man responsible for printing the money he needed.

Schenk picked up the documents on his desk and flipped through a fourth time. There was that saying about gift horses and mouths. The military had leached more than their fair share of bright minds away from other pursuits by promising glory. If one or two of them had a natural inclination towards economics, it was no more than another case of talent wasted on them. By the time someone made the rank of general, they weren't going to be apt to change careers. The man was probably only a few years from retirement.

Give Lang a raw idea, scare him into thinking it imperative enough to take action for once in his life, let him fill in all the boring details, and the origin of the paper began to make sense.

A few notable paragraphs stood out and Schacht reread them. Just to be sure his eyes hadn't deceived him the first two times. _Since when has the Army ever cared about consequences?_ he wondered, shaking his head.

Either they'd actually managed to learn a lesson, or the intelligence they were privy to was pointing towards a political revolution in the opposite direction of the one they wanted. In neither case should Schenk ignore it.

He lit a cigar and looked towards his clock. The end of the day for him. Only lunchtime in New Yourke. He picked up his phone to dial an old friend. Rather, the son of an old friend, which might be better. Opinions of the esteemed friend of one's even more esteemed father carried a certain amount of gravitas.

"Jack," he greeted, once the other man had agreed to interrupt his meal to take a call. No matter how he tried, he could never get the name just right. It came out like he was addressing a Françoise man instead of an American one.

After too many minutes spent catching up, Schenk wound his way back to the point of the call.

"I'm putting something out for post tonight. Give it a good read when it gets there."

"You didn't need to call just for that."

Schenk blew a healthy puff of smoke and made himself ask for the favor.

"What would you say to spreading out your capital on our continent more equitably?"

"And you expect me to convince my investors to take that risk? On your economy?"

"You convinced them to take one on the Republic easily enough. To this day I wonder how you did it. Did you all hate us that much?"

"It was just business, Heinrich," Jack replied. "Nothing personal about it."

"An interesting business model, underwriting one country to invade another more than twice their size, with the population and industrial might to back that up. The pastor must have given a moving sermon on David and Goliath the Sunday previous."

"You're ignoring their colonial territories," Jack commented.

"And you're ignoring my point."

A huff of annoyance came down the line.

"Nobody was betting on the Republic winning an all-out-war," the other man admitted grudgingly.

"You thought we'd back down."

"Yes. Back down. Be reasonable. You did it the last time."

"We were reasonable," Schenk contradicted. "At least in a certain light. When that scuffle over Alsatia happened the Empire was barely past its growth spurt. Not sure we could work out how to coordinate all limbs in unison. Ten years later and we had no doubt. Out of all the other powers, your country should understand that best."

"We understood it was a possibility," Jack sighed. "Not a probability. And in the event of a turn towards a larger conflict, the Republican politicians made plenty of noises to our own about the Commonwealth's support. They wanted the Lowlands carved off and the Françoise were doing just that. All I did was funnel the money from our central bank to theirs."

"So there was a reason behind the diplomatic chill," Schenk chuckled. "I never did believe that sob story about misuse of the Legadonian refugees."

"Sounded better for the papers," Jack said, with a wry laugh of his own. "It was supposed to be a win-win for us. If all went well, we'd own half the industry in the Lowlands. If it didn't, the Commonwealth would step in before it was serious and we'd still be counting the dollars we made selling weapons and the loans for the weapons on top of it."

"So what went wrong?"

"Apparently, they define _serious _a little differently across the pond," Jack snapped.

Schenk smiled to himself. There was a beauty to the cunning. He'd wager the Commonwealth had intended on using the financial commitment to lure the States into waging the ground war on their behalf if it got that far. Once it had, both of the Anglo powers had waited for the other to make the first move. Waited too long, the both of them.

"And now we're both stuck in the hole you dug for yourselves," Schenk grumbled. "Give what I'm sending a read. See if we can't hold hands long enough to climb out of it."

"I'll at least look," Jack promised. "I owe you that."

Schenk replaced the receiver with a firm plunk and stood to don his coat. He dropped the proposal on Gertrud's desk on his way out.

"See that it gets in the morning post," he instructed, tapping twice where he'd written Jack's name so she knew who to address it to. "And get me one of the other copies."

It took Jack two days short of two weeks to return his call.

"It's more return than we can expect from loans to the Republic. I'll give you that," Jack said. "Though you may want to check on your man that ran the numbers. My calculations come out altogether more reasonable."

"Mine too," Schenk replied. "But still, you come out profitable."

"In that case, I'm surprised you aren't asking for more."

"We could trip along on our own without you, if need be. Problem is, we might not get back up one of those times. I don't think either of us wants to find out what comes after that. I'm asking for enough to make sure we never do. No more."

"You sure what comes next isn't a military coup?" Jack snorted. "After they hear you came to fraternize with the enemy?"

"They've given their approval," Schenk lied. Telling anyone the source was high up within that very institution might give the wrong impression about the intended use of funds. "They never gave their own bankers the time of day. You all taught them that we're sometimes worth listening to. Under other circumstances, I'd thank you for it."

Jack sighed. "I do see the merit in the idea. But…"

"But?"

"My own Congress has some ideas on how to use up my available funds already."

"That road project?" Schenk asked.

"We don't have rail like yours, Heinrich. Fifteen years ago we couldn't chase down a jumped-up Mejican farmer without a logistical nightmare every other day. One basic transport network later and we shipped out half our army to come pay a visit to yours within a few weeks. Secretary of War wants more roads and better roads. Eventually a whole system coast to coast. Those don't come cheap and we have the money now. What's my senator going to say when I can't buy enough of his bonds because I'm tied up in yours?"

"I expect your senator cares more about what his largest taxpayers think of him than the other way around," Schenk snorted. "Isn't that how it works over there?"

"Yes," Jack said glibly. "But you aren't supposed to bring that up in polite conversation."

"So then?"

"I can commit to some of it. I'll talk to the other big names around the city about the rest. You've cleared it with your politicians?"

"While I was waiting for you," Schenk confirmed. "Turns out fixing up your country's debt crisis makes a number of men indebted to you."

"Welcome to the club," Jack laughed. "Good doing business with you."

**April 24, 1930  
General Staff Office, Imperial Capital Berun**

Tanya Degurechaff liked being alone.

Contrary to the opinion of certain gossipy coworkers she'd previously had, she didn't hate people. Collectively, humanity was magnificent. Individually, her opinion varied. Even the best people had one or two qualities she'd change if she could. That didn't mean she wouldn't put up with a few annoyances for the sake of an otherwise valuable person. The important thing was that their addition to her life was a net positive.

She would admit her standards for that might be higher than most. She'd simply never seen the appeal of befriending the class clown or the walking disaster. Or even of befriending someone in her immediate proximity for the sake of having someone to share her idle thoughts with.

Predictably, this had resulted in a relatively small group of people whom she was casually friendly with, and a still more exclusive group of close friends. It had never been a problem in her previous incarnation. Modern life was built to be distracting, so she hadn't needed endless social appointments to occupy her during her free time.

Living in the past was an altogether different experience. It was impossible to put into perspective how much boredom electronics eliminated until you didn't have them.

Her apartment could only get so clean. Breaking news wasn't happening every five minutes. When it did happen, you were lucky if you heard about it by the end of the week.

Beyond a certain point, the return on exercise diminished quickly. Even reading lost some of its pleasure when it was an escape from boredom instead of a rare escape from a hectic world into a peaceful, unhurried moment. Especially when all she was reading was a crash course in the specifics of western history that her original education had glossed over. Interesting from an educational perspective, always. From an entertainment perspective, not so much.

Typically, work took up enough time that she didn't find herself in want of anything beyond her usual routine. It also conveniently provided an opportunity to socialize when desired. Too much off-topic chatter and people would wonder what she was being paid for, but if she needed intellectual stimulation there were plenty of relevant topics to choose from and a handful of sharp minds to discuss them with. It had only been a couple weeks back, when her employer had granted her some extra hours to herself, that the company of a like-minded person had drifted into her thoughts as a nice-to-have.

Regardless, calling her lack of social relationships a problem would be a serious exaggeration. Given the choice, she'd take too much time to herself over too little. She wouldn't want any of her coworkers thinking they had an open invitation to her free time because they'd shared a conversation over a drink once or twice. Because Tanya Degurechaff didn't mind being alone. Often, she enjoyed it. Acquiring a new hobby to fill any unexpected spare time had seemed infinitely easier than acquiring and maintaining a relationship outside the office.

In retrospect, ignoring her social life had been a grave mistake. It meant that right now, Tanya Degurechaff was very alone in this world.

It wasn't that she wanted any of her friends in the office to be physically present with her at that exact moment. Now that she thought about it, they were all men. They didn't belong in the women's bathroom to begin with, and definitely not locked in her stall. She was one hundred percent confident that her career would never need that type of assistance.

All of her connections within the office were perfectly reliable, so she couldn't call herself totally alone on a personal level. She was sure they'd try their best to help if she ran to find them.

Romel and Lehrgen went without saying. She was friendly with a number of the other officers. Major Gustav Wechter had lent a helping hand on a few projects recently. On a professional level, she worked well with Lehrgen's adjutant, and had known him for years. That notwithstanding, if Sauer thought it meant they had any type of personal connection, she'd rectify his mistake immediately.

The usual helpfulness of the aforementioned individuals aside, there were times she'd rather not rely on them. She'd bet her last Mark that in this case, the feeling was mutual.

If she was honest with herself, she was no better than an ostrich burying its head in the sand. A hedonist living each day like it was her last. A complete waste of a prefrontal cortex. Of course, she'd known this day was coming. Eventually. Some time. Always one or two years in the future. Not close enough to start acquiring the requisite knowledge or materials to deal with.

No matter what, her adjutant was supposed to have been with her. Visha took care of all types of annoying details with a smile. She knew how to make someone comfortable without treating them like a child that needed extra coddling. She could make a conversation feel personable without making it overly personal. Instead, the Federation was still refusing to give her up. They'd made sure the former lieutenant wasn't in the same country as Tanya, let alone near enough to call for assistance.

_Even the most powerful politicians aren't left all on their own during a red scare_, Tanya groused to herself, glancing down at telltale blood spots again and deciding that wadding up some toilet paper was currently her best option if she didn't want to camp out in the bathroom for a few days. _At least they can arrest a couple people to make themselves feel better._ Unfairly withholding Visha's help from her had to be worse than anything else the communists had ever done.

She stood up and left to give her hands a wash. _Pull it together and stop being dramatic_, she told herself, making a thorough job of it. _Fair doesn't exist. You're an adult._

If she'd given it more thought, she already would have gone to the doctor to make sure the delay wasn't a symptom of a larger health issue. Luckily, it was nothing more than a case of needing some time to catch up after an early adolescence defined by sleep deprivation, strenuous exertion, and constant stress. All she wanted was a normal life. She should be jumping for joy. Especially because something she'd been led to believe would be intrusively painful had gone unnoticed until she'd concentrated enough to feel the slight ache. It was enough to make her wonder if she'd stumbled upon the world's oldest and most widespread work-avoidance conspiracy.

With a deep breath, Tanya forced her thoughts to focus productively. There was no point in complaining about biology. The human species wasn't one that shrugged its shoulders and turned around when the laws of nature threw up obstacles.

Her first order of business was to leave the battlefield before her allies suspected she was in a precarious situation. She'd never taken a sick day, so that shouldn't present an issue. Step two would be to arm herself with the appropriate ammunition and receive training on its deployment protocols. The vague details she'd accumulated on the practical side of things after sharing a tent with Visha were no longer sufficient.

Without a doubt, a medical practitioner would be well-equipped. It felt more than a bit silly to interrupt the day of busy professionals to inform them that she was, in fact, perfectly healthy. Waste in the healthcare system was a significant drain on any nation. It was a good citizen's duty not to contribute.

When it came to the office, Romel had a wife. Tanya was supposed to meet her after being invited to dinner at their house to discuss her career options, each better than the last. This would be a weird way of making a first impression.

On the other hand, Lieutenant Sauer was having too much fun to settle down anytime soon. Out of everyone, he had the potential to be the most helpful. He was surrounded by women left and right, so there was a fair chance he knew more about them than Tanya herself. That aside, anything that gave him leverage over her was out.

Lehrgen...was an exemplary coworker, so the only relationship he kept her informed about was his one with his work. Such a sacred arrangement between the two of them shouldn't be violated.

Beyond her friends, her next option was one of the typists. She didn't know any of them well enough to ask for personal favors. Especially not this personal. Even so, they'd probably sympathize and offer to help. Which would mean that on top of her own absence, she'd have to find a way to excuse someone else's.

Weiss and Ugar both had families. She wanted to ruin her first vacation as little as she wanted to travel hours out of her way for a simple task. That left approximately nobody that Tanya could appeal to completely guiltlessly.

_It can't be that difficult,_ she nodded to herself. A trip to the nearest pharmacy was all she really needed. She could figure it out from there.

She returned to her office and gathered her things to leave. She pulled together the documents that she had for the afternoon meeting she'd be skipping and made a few quick notes. For the most part, it was already put-together enough to present to her boss.

She knocked on Lehrgen's door. Once. Twice. No response. It was half-open, so she tentatively pushed it the rest of the way in.

"General," she said, clearing her throat at the doorway.

He stayed as he was. Head bent forward. Both elbows were on his desk, with each of his palms resting on his temples. Whatever he was reading must have been gripping.

She watched his fingers beat out an unknown rhythm against the top of his head for another second to give him a chance to notice her standing there. When that failed, she walked closer. She only had so much patience for politeness today.

It took her standing directly across from him and a repeated call of "Brigadier General," louder this time, to snap his attention to her.

He looked up with a start. She pulled at her shirt before she caught herself. No matter how many times she told herself that if anything, straightening her shirt was calling attention to the fact that it didn't lie flat, she couldn't break the self-conscious habit. Another item to check off her list of activities she'd been leaving for the future. An undershirt really wasn't cutting it as the only thing under her button-down.

"General," she said again, "might I be allowed to leave for the rest of the day?"

"Yes…" His brow furrowed slightly. "Are you alright? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I'll be fine. I just…I'm just not feeling…myself," she replied, waving her hands around like an idiot. She couldn't pick which symptom she wanted to name as the culprit behind her departure. It was the truth in any case. This stood in stark contrast to all of her previous life experience.

"I can call a driver to take you to the doctor," he offered.

She shook her head emphatically and grimaced. This was the one time she'd like him not to be overly concerned about her well-being.

"It's nothing serious, I just need a bit of…time."

"Alright," he shrugged.

"I'll give you the notes I had for our meeting," she promised, leaving to go get them.

"Degurechaff, we can wait until…" his voice faded once she was in the hall. She'd already done the work. Unscheduled leave was a total nuisance to the rest of a team. Handing off everything that was complete would be the least interruptive way of handling it.

"You're sure you're alright to go home on your own? You really don't look well," he asked, when she returned to drop off her papers.

"Thanks for the concern, but I'll be fine. I just need to go."

"Right, well, take tomorrow off also, and hopefully whatever it is will be better by Monday." He gave her an encouraging half-smile. "And if it isn't, you are allowed sick leave, you know."

"Thank you," she said, trying not to let it gush out like she was desperate. Which she was. Desperate for a bath. A bath was the first thing she wanted, and a change of clothes.

After that was taken care of, it was off to the pharmacy. Waiting in line to speak to someone shouldn't be necessary. She knew exactly what she was looking for.

_Or not_, she huffed to herself. Nothing on her side of the counter looked remotely recognizable.

She looked towards the line of customers, the person at the head having his medication explained by the pharmacist loud enough to make it everyone's business. With a cringe, she wiped a hand down her face and steeled herself to wait her turn. She'd probably never see a single one of these people again.

Maybe Being X expected her to pray for a better solution. Under these circumstances, that good-for-nothing was guaranteed to be even more clueless about humans than normal.

_No, maybe he can be a little helpful_, Tanya thought, wondering why the idea hadn't crossed her mind earlier. Avoiding Being X had its limits. It was a hike to get out there, but she'd grown up in a place full of women. And if she kept one of them from their prayers for an hour or two, that was an added bonus.

An hour and a half later, she was a supplicant at the doors of her orphanage for the second time in as many years.

"Sister Martha," she greeted.

The woman who had opened the door was the only one Tanya wouldn't want help from. She'd have to pick someone else.

"Is Erna free?" she asked hopefully.

"_Sister _Erna is at prayer."

As if the tone wasn't frosty enough to get her point across, Martha crossed her arms tightly and leaned against the doorframe. Tanya rolled her eyes. Deliberately. Martha had never approved of a single thing she did. All over a habit she couldn't remember.

Reportedly, as a very young toddler Tanya had enjoyed flinging her food specifically at the other woman. Even back then, her aim had been good. Maybe it was because Martha reminded her of someone she'd disliked in her previous life. Maybe it was because she'd been the person to introduce Tanya to the wonders of Imperial cuisine. Either way, Martha had never forgiven her. A more perfect representative of the deity she worshipped couldn't be found.

"I wouldn't want to interrupt," Tanya said, with an insincere smile. "I'd be pleased to pray with her."

Scowling, Martha opened the door the rest of the way and walked her back to the private chapel the nuns used.

Martha was watching her, arms crossed, when Tanya looked over her shoulder to check. Rolling her eyes again, she knelt directly by Erna's side, close enough to touch, and clasped her hands in mock prayer.

"Erna," she whispered, as quietly as she could. "I need your help."

"Okay," Erna whispered back, after blinking an eye open to see who it was. "Once Sister Martha gives up and goes back to the kitchen."

"Just like old times," Tanya smiled, despite herself.

She hadn't closed her eyes, so she caught the other girl biting her lip against the laughter she was given to over every little thing.

As a child, Erna hadn't been devout. At all. Seeing her in a nun's habit for the first time had been more shocking than the first time Tanya had gotten a look at her new self in the mirror. Whenever she'd seen the chance, she'd tapped Tanya on the shoulder to let her know the nuns were all praying with their eyes closed and weren't watching to make sure the children were doing the same.

Erna had snuck off to catch butterflies or play in the stream that ran nearby. It had gotten her into constant trouble. She never did a good job hiding the mess her adventures in pagan spiritual practices made. Tanya had only grabbed a book and sat wherever she was least likely to be found that day. She'd probably read _Kinder- und Hausmärchen_ a hundred times. Her selection beyond bibles and devotional material had been limited.

Five minutes after she knelt down, Tanya heard footsteps walking away behind her. She counted to thirty and turned her head, then nudged Erna with her shoulder once she verified their spectator had left.

"How did you know it was Sister Martha with me?" she asked, once both were seated on a pew.

"She limps a little nowadays. Plus, only Martha would refuse to announce you."

"Only Martha," Tanya agreed, drawing her knees up to her chest.

"So, what brings Ms. Fine-On-Her-Own by?"

"I started bleeding," Tanya told her after a brief silence spent staring at her knees.

Erna stood up and moments later there was a pair of arms around her. Tanya let Erna hold onto her for a few seconds. Outside of rare occasions, she didn't feel the need to latch onto another person. It had taken some time to get over thinking of it as an intimate gesture, but she'd grown accustomed enough to it during her childhood that she could normally accept a light hug without reacting. So long as it was clearly friendly, and the person didn't smell.

She drew away once she decided she didn't want to waste any more time.

"I was hoping you would be more help than this."

Erna brought a fist down lightly on her shoulder in silent retaliation, then motioned for Tanya to get up.

"The good news is, we have extras of everything here. No trip to the pharmacy just yet."

"Do they keep everything behind the counter?"

"No," Erna shook her head. "There's usually a box in one corner. You just drop the money and take what you need."

_So that's what that was,_ Tanya nodded. She associated boxes like that with charity collections, so she'd avoided it.

Erna led her to a closet and began pulling things out and putting them in her hands, then walked further down the hall.

"Where are we going?" Tanya asked, once she began to suspect she wasn't going to like the answer.

"To the bathroom."

"Why?"

"To show you."

"You can just explain it," Tanya said hastily.

"It'll be easier if-,"

"I was doing advanced calculus by the time I was ten," Tanya balked. "This can't be that complicated."

"Fine," Erna agreed, throwing up her hands.

_Ok, it is a little complicated_, Tanya admitted to herself as she dealt with the contraption a short time later. She didn't qualify as an expert on how women handled this matter in the 21st century, but she was sure she'd remember if any part of it involved pins and harnesses. The process was so archaic it was hard to believe that less than fifty years separated her from her original birth date.

She checked the mirror before she left. She and Erna were the only people that needed to know what was going on. Satisfied there was nothing noticeable about her appearance, she walked closer to the sink to wash her hands.

_You have to be kidding me_, she bemoaned, hand jumping up to stroke at the bumps along the left side of her jaw, right below her ear. _How did I miss those this morning?_ And here she thought Being X had felt badly enough to leave her with a single blessing - clear skin. Hopefully no one else had noticed. She hadn't seen anyone besides Lehrgen for more than a few seconds. Who was going to call her an equal when she looked like this? Every time she set foot in a bathroom, her day found a new way to ruin itself further.

_It could be worse_, she consoled herself. All told, her face wasn't in nearly as bad a shape as it had been the first time she'd gone through puberty.

"Here's a few aspirin," Erna said when Tanya was done, dropping the pills into her hand. "Make sure you keep a bottle at home and at work."

"I think I'm alright," Tanya told her, attempting to return them. "It's nothing compared to what I'm used to."

"If you say so, little Lieutenant Colonel," Erna agreed, in a playful sing-song. "Come back in two or three years and try to tell me that with a straight face. It can take time to get bad. For me, I started off-,"

"Great," Tanya cut her off, despite Erna's words making her feel the opposite of great. "Thanks. I'll let you get back to work."

"I should really give you the details on how-,"

"I know how it goes," Tanya interrupted again. The Japanese education system hadn't left her ignorant of anything besides historical practices. "You don't need to tell me. But thanks for...for helping."

"Call if you have any questions. We have a phone now."

"Yes, sure," Tanya agreed absently, eager to escape before she had to stay any longer on the subject.

A bath. She wanted another bath. Anybody who described this process with words like beautiful was a complete liar. Maybe she'd just stay in the bath all weekend.

xXx

In a confusing and often frightening world, logic was a reassuring constant. It was an old trick that Brigadier General von Lehrgen relied on whenever his mind confronted the terror of the unknown.

All humans fell ill. Biologically, Tanya Degurechaff was human. And so it followed that she, too, had to suffer temporary defeats at the hands of invisible contagions.

_Weak _was not a term he'd ever used in relation to her. Even when she'd been an unusually tiny little girl, the word had never once come to mind. She was a veteran who'd lived through the most savage aspects of war while maintaining complete equanimity. The prospect of her own death had never caused her half the amount of disquiet that had been on display in front of him. It had been quite frankly one of the most baffling experiences of his life when she'd walked into his office openly in distress, what was normally a fair complexion transformed into a deathly pallor.

She'd caught him comparing twin reports on the increasingly dire political climate in Ildoa, one from Elya and one from his in-country contact. Her sudden appearance had startled him so much that for a few minutes, before he'd reminded himself that coming down with an illness was an allowable activity for Tanya, he'd been barely staving off panic while trying to get to the bottom of what was wrong. Normally, Degurechaff operated at a level of efficiency that was better measured on an industrial scale than a human one. It had felt like a reliable machine trying to shut off without warning. When that happened, it was more likely to be a complete system malfunction than an issue of needing routine maintenance.

He'd looked up at the sky as he'd left that night, expecting to see a full moon hanging brightly among the stars, but had only found a bare sliver waning away. He wasn't superstitious, not in the least. Nevertheless, seeing Tanya on the verge of succumbing to despair had been more frightening than seeing her bring the entire Dacian Army to its knees in the space of an hour, a portent of some unknown calamity. A primeval fear of seeing one's own predator fleeing before another that is stronger, faster, hungrier.

Come Monday, he poked a head into her office when he got the chance. He had a piece of news to deliver. Thankfully, he found her back to normal, sipping on her coffee and frowning at her papers.

"All better?"

Right as she tipped the cup to her mouth, she paused to look at him over the top.

"In a manner of speaking," she intoned flatly, finishing her sip immediately after and precluding further explanation.

"A call came in while I was here on Saturday."

"You work on Saturdays?"

"Usually."

"Apologies, if I'd known I would have-,"

"No need," he interrupted, with a silent curse at himself for bringing it up. If he wasn't careful, he'd soon be seeing her six days a week instead of five.

Even when her presence wasn't unpleasant, it was overwhelming. A dark, low cloud on the horizon that could cause a storm any time it chose. He couldn't be the only one in the office needing two days' respite from it.

"Your paycheck doesn't include Saturdays," he told her. Leaving it at _no need_ was practically an invitation to spend more time on her favorite hobby.

She frowned slightly, tilted her head, furrowed her brow. He could see an objection brewing, one that said her compensation could easily be adjusted upwards if unpaid labor was all he was concerned over.

"The new government is stricter about enforcing reasonable working hours, especially for women and anyone under eighteen. I wouldn't want to have to report myself," followed quickly on the heels of his last statement.

Her frown deepened into a disappointed grimace and she made a disbelieving _hmm _before taking another sip of her drink.

"So what was it you came to tell me?" she asked, once she was finished.

"Fischer, you remember, from the bank?"

She nodded.

"He called. From what I gather the Reichsbank is undertaking a version of what you submitted."

That perked her up more than the coffee, and she straightened in her chair.

"I was expecting it to take longer for the Americans to approve. Until they saw the redenomination wasn't enough to stabilize us."

"It so happens the bank president, Schenk, is a personal friend of a very wealthy American banker. Am I to assume you're familiar with the name Jack Morgen?"

She put her cup down so hard it was half a miracle nothing sloshed out.

"Am I to assume they're interested?"

"Them, and every other bank that got wind of it. They're all so competitive none of them can stand the thought that one's got a revenue stream the other doesn't."

A self-satisfied smile crept across her face. It was the same one she wore each time she put a piece of the world into the place she'd made for it. It was a smile he'd never liked, not until now, when finally it represented a shared victory instead of hers alone.

"Sounds like I'll be increasing my tally of casualties sooner than I realized," she drawled, sitting back in her chair and lifting her cup once again.

_Yes_, Lehrgen agreed, feeling his heart skip a beat. Very possibly, he would be the first one. There really was nothing to like about her triumphant smirk.

"The President of the Republic will be quite an addition," she continued.

His mind blanked for a second.

_How far do you plan on going?_ it screamed at her, when it came back to life.

A strangled "hah?" made its way out of his throat and she turned her gaze from looking through him to looking at him.

"When Monsieur Clement sees my name floating around in the papers and realizes I'm half the reason he's receiving what he thinks is his due from us…" she clarified, with a sniff of laughter, "...well, let's hope he has a doctor on standby."

Lehrgen laughed along with her. Not at her words, but as a way of letting out the tension in his gut naturally.

_Please work on your sense of humor_, he thought, reassuring himself that last part about killing the President had been a joke. Or, if not meant entirely in jest, enough to let him know that she wasn't plotting any direct action against a foreign head-of-state.

"I wouldn't count him just yet," Lehrgen said, regaining a steady flow of air into his lungs with a last breath of nervous laughter.

She looked at him questioningly.

"Lang, the other one, he made some additions, revisions, things like that. Submitted it under his own name."

Tanya said nothing, her reply the plunk of her cup back onto her desk, this time hard enough to spill its contents over her hand. If she noticed, she gave no indication, her only further response a clenched jaw and flared nostrils.

"There was no other way," he placated, pulling his handkerchief from his pocket and throwing it down in front of her. "I hate to remind you, but along with not sitting on the _Reichsbank's _central committee, you don't even have a degree to certify that you completed primary school. An economics paper written by someone whose only education was specialized for combat isn't going to get any traction. At least not until more people learn that isn't all you're capable of."

She took a deep breath, turned her head away, closed her eyes. For a long moment he watched as she alternated between chewing at her bottom lip and pressing both together while she sucked them in over her teeth.

She turned back and picked up his handkerchief to wipe her hand clean, gaze sullenly stuck looking down, like she was wounded by the thought that her credentials didn't earn her entry into every walk of life.

Briefly, Lehrgen wondered what her résumé looked like. _Previous work experience: War; Education: War College; Skills: Waging war, specializing in battle strategy; Personal hobbies: Funnily enough, also war._ Even as someone who'd managed personnel for the Army, that candidate sounded like they were lacking something.

She looked up, expression fixed in a frown so deep it verged on a pout. "I never realized the Army didn't take care of that."

"We used to do something of the sort. There was a program for personnel to catch up on what they missed if they volunteered before seventeen. No official certificate, but it was never a problem. Most mages don't choose to go into academia. Now that the Army's been taken down to the bare minimum and there aren't any more recruits below twenty..." he said, drifting off with a shrug and shake of his head.

Her disappointment was palpable. The realization that anyone might look down on her must have been hard to swallow. She'd spent half her life in the Army being recognized as a prodigy. Always the best, always the smartest, always the strongest. Always the most important, regardless of rank.

Despite her piety, he wouldn't put it past her to find God himself presumptuous for assuming He was above her in the natural order of things. He could just imagine her, aged four, paging through Genesis after learning to read and wondering what sort of pathetic excuse for a deity needed a day of rest after only six days of work.

"It won't affect your career in the Army," he assured her.

If he'd had it his way, the treaty they'd signed would have barred Degurechaff by name from having a career in the Army, among other professions, but his opinion on that matter hadn't been solicited. He'd been counting on the Commonwealth's renowned intelligence service to ferret out some of the less comradely comments he'd made about her and pass along to the Françoise that they had an unlikely ally when it came to certain topics. As usual, Fate hadn't taken his side.

Tanya gave a cheerless smile in response to his attempt to console her. He took that as his sign to duck out and get back to work.

On his way to his office, he stopped by his adjutant's desk to request another pot of coffee for himself. He needed a shot of energy if he was going to voluntarily add another item to his neverending to-do list.

He'd spent plenty of time wishing that Degurechaff would find an innocuous career for herself outside the Army. What he hadn't considered was whether there was any possibility of her doing so. Her own inclinations aside, she had none of the typical qualifications for careers which might suit both her ego and her academic side. She'd mentioned as much when he'd first hired her.

If she were to get her _Abitur_, that would change. Perhaps, with time, he could convince her that there were worthwhile professions other than the military, or at least ones that would pay her better. If he were to help her acquire a proper education, it would open doors to her that she might one day take, doors that would divert her down another path. No matter how unlikely, it was worth pursuing if it meant that the figures which counted her kills would remain static.

Imagining her reaction when he asked her to give up her work to sit in a classroom full of pupils nowhere near her level of intelligence or drive was enough to dissuade him from that route. It would be a wonder if she respected a single member of the teaching staff.

If he managed to get her permission to sit for the final exam, though, and, provided her score was good, earn an equivalency certificate due to extenuating circumstances, perhaps she would consider taking it.

He couldn't ask her now. Not if he wanted to move forward. All he'd hear was that there was no point. She'd be enlisting again in three years, and it would render any educational attainment moot.

On the other hand, if he presented the idea to her after she'd already been granted the permission, there was a good shot that she'd feel unable to turn the offer down. She wouldn't risk offending her soon-to-be superior officer by wasting all his efforts on her behalf.

In any case, he shouldn't get her hopes up by discussing it with her now. It would take some time to figure out the right people to convince and get the necessary approvals, and it was quite possible she'd be required to wait until she was eighteen and the rest of her age-mates were eligible to earn the _Abitur _anyhow.

With a sigh, he collapsed down into the chair behind his desk. There were days when it felt like for each item of work Tanya took off his hands, she created a more difficult one in its place.

xXx

Tanya waited until her boss was well out of earshot before standing up and kicking her desk a few times angrily. If she weren't at work, she'd scream in frustration.

She should have realized things wouldn't go her way so smoothly. There went all her hopes of escaping the Army anytime, ever, if she wanted a career and not just a job. They were the only ones besides her who knew how employable she was. A certain someone from the bank owed her a favor one day.

Employing herself was out. She had no capital. She knew the statistics on startup success. And that was in a good economy. Great ideas didn't turn a profit without the right place, the right time, the right luck. Taking out a loan when her country was barely skirting economic disaster would be riskier than three-quarters of the battles she'd fought. Even if she were successful, by the time she was ready to start paying off debt, the Great Depression would be lurking around the corner. Certain long-term investments could be a possibility, but they wouldn't work for an immediate return.

It was obvious General von Lehrgen wasn't going to offer her an easy way out of her predicament. She'd have to work on changing his mind. He'd practically stated outright that he expected her to re-enlist as soon as she was able. It was no wonder. As the only one who could use the Type 95, she had the dubious honor of being irreplaceable.

Should she be thankful that her superior wasn't a sexist? It was nice if he didn't take her gender into account when assessing her ability to contribute productively within an office environment, but she'd really be happy to hear he believed women were delicate and not fit for certain jobs. What was the use in being born before the advent of the 20th century if you weren't going to use it to excuse some outmoded views on the world? If he'd made one thing clear, it was that his efforts to help her avoid combat had been due to nothing more than her age.

Tanya gave a last firm kick to one of her cabinets and made herself stop venting her anger. Complaining wasn't going to get her anywhere. She'd have to make the best of her situation and find another way to attain a proper career that didn't entail handling weapons. Preferably, she wouldn't even think about them except on her own time. No matter how much she'd been interested in them in her past life, it had been a hobby. Nothing she'd intended on going professional with. She'd never owned anything more dangerous than a kitchen knife.

In the meantime, she couldn't even earn overtime pay. She treasured her free time as much as the next person, but until she had something better to do with it, taking on more hours in exchange for better compensation wouldn't be the worst be the worst way to spend it. Lehrgen, a stickler for rules if there ever was one, wouldn't hear of making an exception for an underage worker.

Relying on regulations could only have been an excuse. The government only interfered with the military to the extent necessary. They would never dream of auditing the hours each employee clocked. He probably still felt guilty about all the years she'd gone without a day off. If he wanted to make it up to her, she'd rather have the money.

All that aside, he'd made it perfectly clear he wasn't going to change his mind. She'd have to accept her nine-to-five. Or seven-to-seven, more realistically.

_Thinking back to Lehrgen's comments, he did mention that if people get to know me better, they may be willing to overlook my lack of formal education,_ Tanya thought, smiling to herself. The process of networking had never been something she relished. Nevertheless, it was a skill she'd honed over many years. All she needed was to find the right opportunity.

She sat down at her desk, considerably calmer than she'd been a few seconds before. She had a couple years before she'd have to make an excuse for why she was working in the General Staff Office but hadn't re-enlisted. There was no reason to despair. If she was patient and grasped at the chance to insinuate herself into a situation where she could impress the right people when it presented itself, she should have no reason to worry.


	17. I'm not your babe, Fernando

.

**May 9, 1930  
Isola, Milàn, Kingdom of Ildoa**

Silvio was a man with a problem. A few problems, if you wanted to count each potential indictment as a discrete item.

Yes, maybe he hadn't paid his taxes in full. On the other hand, since he hadn't paid his personal ones at all, it was possible he'd only forgotten. An unintentional oversight. The result of an over-complicated system. Who could say otherwise?

Yes, he'd made some donations to the bank accounts of a number of judges. He was a friendly man. A true Ildoan to his core when it came to generosity. And anyway, it was his job to fight for the best outcome for his companies or his constituents. The judges were the ones who were supposed to give rulings according to no one's interest but the law's. So who was really the guilty party here?

Yes, there was a possibility he'd mixed up money belonging to his businesses with money belonging to him. Every entrepreneur could tell a similar story. It got confusing when your name was on everything. Besides, didn't everyone go into business to make money? His investors knew he wasn't running a charity.

Yes, there was some truth to the accusation he had links to the Mafia and their drug trafficking. He was an important man. He had his fingers in many pots. So did they. How was he supposed to avoid crossing paths with them? Or even know that the man he was dealing with was a _camorrista_? He wouldn't have any friends if he began questioning everyone's backgrounds from the moment he met them.

And yes, he had a fondness for women. He wouldn't deny that. What man didn't? That was a crime he was proud to declare himself guilty of. If she so happened to be a relative of a fellow politician, what was the harm in a few backroom connections? They were the women he saw the most of, dressed in finery for whichever evening event they were all attending.

_Some nerve_, Silvio thought darkly at his peers, as he picked up his napkin to dab his lips clean. He pushed the rest of his meal away. His stomach was too full of worry to fill it with food.

What cause did Signore Manneonni have to treat him like this, threaten to expose him and end his career in ignomy? So he'd taken a liking to his oldest girl. She was twenty-three and already married, not a vestal virgin. The man needed to learn to take a compliment.

"_Madò_," his mother muttered with a shake of her head, summoned from the kitchen by the sound of his plate scraping across the table, dish towel in hand and looking ready to snap it in his direction. "I spend two hours cooking, and what, for this? You didn't even eat the marrow."

"_Mamma_. I'm not a young man anymore. I can't eat like I used to," he complained.

In spite of his words, Silvio reached guiltily for the plate of _osso buco_ to pull it back towards him. He'd at least eat the marrow. He owed her that after he'd come running home from Ruma to clear his head. Even if he'd offered to pay for a cook so many times he'd lost count. The old woman was too set in her ways to eat someone else's dinners.

After his mother took his plate back to the kitchen, mumbling to herself under her breath all the while, Silvio stood up to make a visit to the liquor cabinet. She had made some changes. She wasn't shy about stocking a little Rossi d'Angera with the money he sent instead of buying her _grappa _as cheaply as it came.

He shook the bottle and cursed. There was barely a single drink left in it. It was much too late in the evening to remedy that, so he poured the remnants into a glass and returned to his chair to sip away at it.

_Doesn't our country have more newsworthy issues than my life?_ he lamented, wondering what good it would do anyone to pursue personal grudges at a time like the present. Ildoa was a country with a problem. A few problems, if you wanted to count each grievance driving people into the streets as a discrete item.

Unemployment was high. Unemployment was always high, but since the war ended it had only grown worse. All the factories of Europa had returned to producing goods for export. Ildoa's could barely compete.

Because unemployment was high, labor conditions were bad. Because labor conditions were bad, the socialists were trying to stir up the population. Because the socialists were trying to stir up the population, the other side had to try even harder to do the same. And that didn't count the people who were still stirred up from mobilizing for war, losing a few battles their enemy had barely cared about, and then coming home empty-handed.

The train schedule could only be described as a suggestion. The Eternal City was falling into disrepair. If the cost of bread kept going up, the entire _mezzogiorno _would revolt en masse. Nobody paid their taxes, including the ones who remembered. None of the other nations trusted them. Even the Pope was busy trying to make sure he wasn't associated with Ildoa.

All this, and Manneonni wanted to talk about Silvio like he was one of the country's problems.

"_Mamma, un caffè_," Silvio called, an idea forming in his mind. Perhaps he could help his country. All he asked was that it do the same for him in return.

He tipped the last of his _grappa _into the coffee when it came. The time had come to start taking his politics seriously.

All he'd wanted was to make life easy for himself. When the money had started coming, he'd gotten greedy. He'd admit it. He'd gone into politics to protect his businesses. There was no reason he couldn't do more if he put his mind to it. Now he had something much more vital to protect: himself. And what he'd earned through his hard work. A man could find something to be passionate about in that.

He was already a major player in the newspapers. He knew his way around radio broadcasts. A few more smart acquisitions and Manneonni wouldn't find anywhere to make his accusations known. His oversight had been in not thinking big enough. Bribing a few judges had been a mistake. It left open a far larger field of unfriendly ones, possibly jealous of their wealthier colleagues. If he was going to do that, he should have realized he needed to own all of them. And you didn't have to pay your taxes to the state when you were the state.

What the Ildoan people needed was a leader. Someone who shouted just as loudly as they about what ailed them instead of advising them to remain calm. Someone who knew how to fix everything instead of crying that it was complicated. Or at least someone who seemed like he knew. The problem with today was the amount of information everyone had. It made them realize the world was full of troubles. People were much happier if they read good things in the news. Especially when it wasn't true.

If the people needed jobs, Silvio had gotten his start in construction. Once they gave him the votes, he knew exactly the company that would hire them to restore their capital city to glory. He had no need to personally profit. He was a wealthy man. But a little profit would make sure his company's interest stayed in line with that of the common citizen.

For all the men whose blood was still running hot, he had just the thing. Before the country could march into territory that rightly belonged to them, they needed to have control of their own country first. A second reunification of sorts. Of course, actually trying to make good on any claims the Ildoans had on foreign lands would only bring trouble. Any fool could see that. The trick was to never run out of problems within your own borders. After political enemies were dealt with, all those aspiring soldiers could get to work on forcing the rail systems to run with the same efficiency as the famed Imperial ones. And after that, there'd be something else. People felt better when they had a goal they were striving for than when they reached it.

Silvio's head tipped back so he could finish his coffee. He looked down at his watch. Not too late yet. It was time to make a call to a certain Neapolitan after his own heart - the type who was politically well-connected and didn't waste time trying to pretend he was a man who couldn't be bought.

"Listen, _chiatton_," Silvio said, after the men had greeted each other. "You want to make some money off me?"

The other man chuckled, and with that, Silvio began to explain the details of what he needed. Nothing too extravagant yet. Someone to help smooth things over with Manneoni, at least for now. Someone to reassure the political class he wasn't a threat until it was too late. It wouldn't do to let someone in on his plans, especially not someone who would sell his secrets to the highest bidder.

Invented enemies and exaggerated prosperity wasn't a game anyone could keep up forever. Long enough to make the people think of him as a beneficent godfather was all he needed. After that, he'd slip quietly away and blame his successor for not filling his shoes. No matter that some parliamentarians knew the truth, the average person would never forget his reign as one of pride and progress. That was the sort of power that sent politicians into well-funded retirement on an island instead of whichever jail he'd be sent to if Manneonni got his way.

Silvio wouldn't mind exile from Ruma. Actually, he'd prefer it. It smelled. There was too much work. He couldn't indulge himself as much as he'd like. He could already taste the salt on the breeze blowing across the balcony of a villa on Capre. Or Sardignia. He wasn't picky.

**May 26, 1930  
General Staff Office, Imperial Capital Berun**

Brigadier General von Lehrgen paused before he knocked, fist in the air. He was on the verge of violating the sacrosanct silence of an office before eight. And doing so on that most holy of mornings - a Monday.

He knew Tanya got in nearly as early as he did. They'd accidentally crossed paths a handful of times in the six months she'd been working. In strict accordance with the laws governing such meetings, they'd proceeded to ignore each other's existence beyond the barest of nods so as to provide no opportunity for the work day to begin earlier than scheduled.

With a word of apology to the god of small satisfactions, Lehrgen rapped twice on the wood, firm and commanding. A tentative attempt could reasonably go unheard. Or more likely, heard but unacknowledged under the pretense of being unheard.

It didn't prompt an immediate opening. Nearly on the brink of raising his fist again, the knob turned and the door jerked backwards with wrathful force so that he could be greeted by the beatific sight of Degurechaff's death stare. Truly, the way he wanted to start every morning.

He doubted if she'd finished her second sip of coffee yet, if the steam rising off of it was any indication. He wouldn't bother with exchanging pleasantries. There was little point in doing so with someone wholly incapable of acting pleasant prior to finishing a cup and a half. Preferably two.

"I have some good news," he told her, before she could grumble sullenly at the intrusion. Despite her surly attitude, he was unable to keep a slight smile from tugging at one corner of his mouth.

She didn't betray any inquisitiveness over it, did nothing more than raise her eyebrows in a way that suggested he should get on with whatever it was he wanted to say and leave her in peace.

"The Ispagnan ambassador will be here this week. They've agreed to help mediate with the Federation over releasing our prisoners of war."

On its own, that was cause enough for happiness. It wasn't why he'd come to tell her.

He wasn't sure if she realized that she did it. The way she talked when she said "Serebryakov" this or "Serebryakov" that, how her tone morphed from a lifeless recitation of fact into one with subtle animation. It was the same with a handful of other names, though they were spoken with less frequency.

Maybe it was his imagination. Maybe it was a complete lack of understanding over what drove her. Regardless, it represented a chance. A hope that the right person could influence her. And if that was true, he didn't doubt that Viktoriya would exert a positive force over her ill-tempered friend.

Tanya wasn't an especially excitable person, so he didn't expect her to start jumping up and down upon hearing the good tidings he'd brought. Nevertheless, it did garner a reaction of sorts, so long as he was willing to count the look of extreme annoyance clearing off of her face as a sign the news was welcome.

"That's good to hear," she said, the ghost of a smile making itself known. "I was wondering how long it was going to take. I wasn't under the impression it was normally this difficult of a process."

Lehrgen shook his head. "Usually the other side isn't falsely accusing us of failing to release our own prisoners."

The Empire had been perfectly within its rights to jail communist revolutionaries on its own territory. Territory that was no longer theirs, true, but it had been at the time. The men had been arrested for violating law and order, not taken as prisoners of war. They shouldn't be subject to those conventions. Everyone knew that. Even the Federation. Nonetheless, Moskva had acted the part of champion on behalf of Polaska, refusing to release the last of the Imperial prisoners until the Empire released the citizens that were no longer theirs.

"Still, two years to reach an agreement?" Tanya scoffed.

"There's more politics involved than usual," Lehrgen shrugged. "The Federation doesn't trust the Commonwealth or the States will mediate fairly on behalf of communists. Quite rightly, in all honesty. The current Ispagnan government has leanings more acceptable to Moskva. And not so far in that direction that we can't trust them ourselves."

With a sigh, Tanya nodded. "How long until…?"

"A few months until anyone's released, I'm sure," Lehrgen replied. "And it will likely be a piecemeal process. But at least there's finally progress being made."

"And how are prisoners prioritized?"

"I've already submitted Serebryakov's name as a high priority. She's one of our most talented mages. Trouble is, the Federation almost certainly knows that. In the interest of coming to an agreement quickly on the bulk of the soldiers, our mediator may very well suggest we leave her and the other mages for later."

Degurechaff scowled at that. "Is there any way the ambassador could be persuaded to make sure that doesn't happen? At least not with her?"

"I have heard…" he began in haste, encouraged by Tanya's reaction, the sentence petering out upon realizing he wasn't sure what good it would do to tell her.

The ambassador was known to be weak to certain types of charm, the types that were missing from groups of middle-aged men. The problem was, Degurechaff had none of the naïve charm of a young girl. She defined absolute zero on that scale. She'd be equally as useless, if not more so. At least most gentlemen had learned how to be diplomatic when it came to asking for favors. If it came down to it, Sauer would be several times better at making wide, innocent eyes that tugged on heartstrings as they pled for help. What would really make a difference would be if Elya were in town. She could apply a far more effective sort of charm to the request.

"...never mind," he finished.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Is it something that could help?"

Lehrgen cleared his throat. "I've heard the ambassador has a soft spot where women and girls are concerned."

Degurechaff's face began to transform from one of mild interest back into the glare she'd had when she'd opened the door.

"You could talk to one of the typists," he clarified quickly.

"I'll do it," she spat.

_Did I...offend her?_ he wondered. There was nothing she could do about being young, but that wasn't stopping her from fixing her personality.

On that count, she could only rely on one thing. She had a charisma that was as magnetic in its pull as it was in its ability to repel, the assuredness of a prophet who had seen the truth of the world announcing her revelations. It forced everyone to acknowledge her, one way or the other. So long as she didn't stray from advocating on behalf of her friend, the likely reaction from the Ispagnan was the former one.

"What's his name?" Tanya asked eventually.

"Fernando Quevedo. And I should warn you he can be a bit overly…friendly," Lehrgen replied, choosing his words carefully. "If you think that will offend you, you ought to steer clear."

It was all too easy to imagine Degurechaff knocking someone's teeth out for daring to refer to her with a term like "darling," which seemed like the sort of thing the ambassador might do. She did have a penchant for causing international incidents.

"And don't say a word about politics unless you can be respectful," he reminded her. "I know you aren't favorably inclined to socialists, but their country is doing ours a favor."

"I won't," she said, taking a long sip of her coffee. "Assuming it devolves into a civil war, there's no chance we'll involve ourselves, is there?"

_Don't impose civil wars like it's a hobby_, he thought, with a mental roll of his eyes. If she was right about that being Europa's next conflagration, he'd be delighted to inform her that it had no chance of involving her personally.

"You think it likely to get that bad?"

She gave a small shrug. "There are no powerful moderate parties. It's not what I'd call a promising situation."

"That's true enough," he nodded. "Still not enough reason to try our luck with a proxy war. They're nowhere close to any border of ours. Nor are our economies especially well-linked."

She blinked a couple times, like she hadn't been expecting that answer, then stared down into her cup for a few seconds in dejected silence.

"And if it was a country on our border? One of our own former territories?" she asked, still looking down.

He sighed. She could never leave well enough alone. A political revolution in the Ostrian Empire would be different and she knew it. Their southern neighbor was suffering the effects of separation comparatively worse.

"I can't say we wouldn't feel the need to declare for one side or the other," Lehrgen sighed, rubbing at one of his temples. "Though right now, the looming disagreement looks to be the Ostrian nationalists and the Ostrians waiting to rejoin our empires. No matter what anyone would like, that's not a debate we're allowed to have an opinion on."

"Right," was all she said back, before finally looking up. There was only one way to interpret the look on her face: _Leave and let me finish my coffee in silence._ He took that as his cue to go call Elya to report the same news. Undoubtedly, that conversation was going to be a far more pleasant one to have.

xXx

Feminine charm.

It was a difficult thing to put a finger on. Was it a matter of having a good figure? No one could say that Tanya didn't cut a fine silhouette. She dressed as impeccably as her coworkers, with the exception of wearing a belt instead of suspenders: trousers and a button-down that left room to move. It didn't make for a womanly figure, true. But an agreeable-looking one.

Did it have to do with a pretty face? Now that her skin had cleared back up, Tanya's wasn't bad. There weren't any obvious issues she needed to cover up with makeup or a distracting hairstyle. If you looked, she even had nice eyelashes.

If part of charm had to do with making those eyelashes flutter, that was where she would admit defeat. She'd tried in the mirror last night. Just to see if being born with two X chromosomes had magically gifted her the ability. It hadn't. Suffice to say, having a gnat fly into her eye while staring directly at the sun may have produced better results.

Was it looking coy? What did that even mean? Descriptions that subjective were useless.

_Aghh_, Tanya thought, placing her hands on the bathroom counter and hanging her head._ It's impossible. I can't do it._

Her impression of the past had always been that creating and fulfilling unscientific stereotypes had been something of a recreational sport. Men were men and women were women. That's what her one grandfather had ranted on about that time her older cousin had gone through that phase where she used _boku _and sprinkled _da _everywhere. It went without saying that in that outdated model, men only wanted women and only wanted them to be ladylike. Tanya wasn't anyone's idea of a perfect lady. It wasn't something she had a mind to become, especially not for the sole purpose of attracting attention. Admittedly, in this one instance, it might be useful.  
_  
I have to do it,_ she told herself, looking back up. The other women in the office didn't know Visha. Nobody in their right mind would agree to go bat their eyelashes at some old man over a problem that didn't involve them.

She didn't need to be best friends with any of the typists. That didn't mean she wanted them to hate her. A colleague at her old job had jilted one of the admins. After that, he'd lived in one of the outer circles of hell. His lunch orders were always wrong. His mail came late. Documents sent to the printer went mysteriously missing. It had taken him a year to get his broken chair replaced. A year.

Being insulted when someone came by to say _show a little leg to close the deal_ wasn't a matter of being male or female. It was a matter of self-respect. It was anyone's right to use that method of persuasion if they wanted to. Making it an obligation was, among other things, an HR nightmare. It was good she'd stopped Lehrgen's train of thought. She might have saved him from some nasty pranks.

Regardless, he was right about one thing: she couldn't compete as a woman. She'd have to do it as a girl. A child from before the era where children were told they could do anything they set their mind to. What a bullshit piece of advice. Helpless it would have to be.

There was no question that someone had to make an appeal for Visha. Lehrgen wouldn't have interrupted her morning two days ago if he could guarantee her swift return himself, so it would look bad if she refused to help. And let it never be said that she shirked her responsibilities.

If it weren't for Tanya, Visha never would have ended up imprisoned. That was a simple fact. She'd been stuck as the unlucky adjutant to the girl responsible for giving Zettour the idea for a quick-strike battalion. She was the only member of the 203rd who hadn't endured it voluntarily. Her choice had been forced, but technically, Tanya had picked the assignment.

Beyond that, Visha had been conscripted. That meant, like Tanya, she was a rational person without a death wish. A war maniac languishing in prison didn't deserve her effort. A victim of the Empire's policies had to be treated the same way Tanya would want for herself.

Lazy excuses like fair and unfair aside, keeping prisoners as a supplemental labor force guaranteed they weren't being used to their full potential. A prisoner would do the bare minimum required. Any talents or innovative ideas would go completely to waste. It was impossible to get anything but a substandard effort from people whose freedom had been taken from them.

_Well, it's not like I can expect communists to understand the beauty of the free market,_ Tanya reminded herself, giving a firm nod to her reflection and leaving to go in search of the ambassador.

If logic couldn't convince the Federation to let go of all its prisoners, the next best objective was to have the most valuable ones released first. Compared to the average person, Visha had much more promise. Letting her human capital go to waste any longer was a travesty. If that could be corrected by acting the part of a teary-eyed little girl for a few minutes, any decision-making strategy would tell her it was a worthwhile tradeoff.

Tanya spotted the ambassador in the hall. With a deep breath, she fixed her goal in her mind and marched over.

"Mister Quevedo?" she asked, forcing her voice to sound bright and cheery.

"Yes, my dear?" he responded, turning around to face her.

_Don't react_, Tanya reminded herself. Undeniably, a willingness to introduce himself to a stranger that way while in a professional setting did not bode well for the rest of the conversation.

The man did a double-take when he turned around fully and saw her. Tanya did one of her own. She had to fight the urge to slap a hand over her face. Finding a willing member of the female staff to do this for her would not have been troublesome. Speaking strictly objectively, Quevedo was a handsome man. At this point, it would be awkward for her to back out.

"What's a girl as lovely as yourself doing in that outfit?" he mourned.

Tanya glanced down. Problematic would be the kindest thing to say about that statement. It would be equally problematic if she failed to hide her reaction. She'd hope that looking away came off as shy.

"They made me fight in the war," she said, curling in on herself like she was a tragic heroine scarred by the memories. She remained staring at the floor. Putting on this act with a straight face was impossible. "Now this is the only job I can get. I have to obey the military dress code as best I can."

"You poor thing," Quevedo crooned. Tanya winced at the tone. "I always knew Imperial men were clueless on how to treat a woman right."

Tanya took another deep breath. Maintaining the meek posture required more determination than flying into gunfire.

"I heard you might be able to help me make sure my friend gets back home soon," she said, finally lifting her head and smiling hopefully up at him.

"Your favorite handsome soldier was captured?" he asked, eyebrows dancing suggestively.

Tanya's eyes immediately went back to the floor. _Do. Not. Hit. Him,_ she repeated to herself a few times, concentrating on a small stain in the rug. By nature, she wasn't a violent person. Still, she could only be asked to suffer through so many breaches of office etiquette in a row. And she'd thought concealing her feelings when particularly useless employees had broken down and cried in her office instead of waiting until they got home had been difficult. She'd handled restructuring, but it was quite evident that the man in front of her would end up with her colleague who dealt with sexual harassment lawsuits.

It was imperative that she kept her calm. He was basically just a harmless flirt. It would be years and years until that wasn't acceptable in a work environment anymore. He didn't realize he was doing anything wrong.

"She's my best friend," Tanya replied, keeping the innocent smile plastered on her face, the same one that was flushed with anger that might come off as an embarrassed blush if she was lucky. "Her name is Viktoriya Serebryakov. A girl as pretty as her would never have joined the Army if she weren't conscripted. It's cruel to let her remain in the Federation any longer."

More than anything, Tanya didn't like implying that Visha should be liberated for such a petty reason. Quevedo seemed like the romantic type. He probably loved imagining himself rescuing a damsel in distress.

"Viktoriya," he said, tapping his temple with a finger like it was going to help him remember. "I'll see what I can do."

With that, he reached out and patted her on the head.

_This motherf-_Tanya stopped herself before she grabbed his hand and used it to hurl him over her shoulder. Even if she'd turned up the childish charm, she was clearly a teenager, not a toddler.

She tried to smile in thanks, and then turned on her heel and made her feet trudge back to her office instead of turning around to give him a piece of her mind. Visha owed her. Big time. She'd signed up for a little acting like she'd done in the propaganda shoot. Not total humiliation.

xXx

The next time he saw the Ispagnan ambassador, Lehrgen breathed a sigh of relief that he'd been holding in for hours. Ernst had come running to mention he'd seen Degurechaff pull the other man aside. As Quevedo was not sporting a black eye in the aftermath, he could only assume the conversation had gone passably well.

Friday was the first truly nice day of the three preceding weeks. Berun had seen so much spring rain the Spree was near to spilling over its banks and flooding the grassy plain that the Staff Office sat on. By now, every shred of cloth in his house felt slightly damp. Finally, the clouds had cleared. He was eager to open every window and let the sun and breeze clear the air.

He stopped by Tanya's office on his way out to tell her that he was leaving early and remind her that she was free to do the same.

She had that morning's newspaper sticking out of her wastebin. Without thinking, he commented on the headline.

"Do they really think the Commonwealth will grant them independence so easily?" he asked, clicking his tongue.

It wasn't that he didn't sympathize with the Hindustani protestors. Violence against unarmed resistors made that near-to-impossible for anyone besides Degurechaff. Regardless, it was difficult to understand how it would achieve much of anything beyond relaxing certain draconian laws. If governments responded amenably to peaceful requests for territorial changes, there would be little need for wars.

"I'm not sure I'd call being beaten and jailed easy," she snorted.

"I meant-,"

"Without armed insurrection," she finished, nodding. "Could turn out to be surprisingly effective."

He made a frown of disagreement.

"Well, here's to hoping," she said, lifting her cup in a mock toast.

"You shouldn't drink coffee so late in the day," he admonished, letting some inane comment come out of his mouth while he tried to reconcile the fact that Tanya, Tanya Degurechaff, had very possibly just wished success to a nonviolence movement.

"It's tea, if you must know," she sniffed, turning it towards him so he could see it was the reddish color of any popular brand of fruit tea.

"Another victim then," he grinned.

If someone didn't know what to get him as a gift, always, it was fruit tea, like they'd assessed him as being an aficionado. Wrong. Completely wrong. For the past five years, a mystery package had come through the post on his birthday with an extra-large bag. Despite the lack of sender information, he was quite sure it was his brother's doing, a form of petty revenge after hearing one too many complaints. Harmless and annoying pranks were a trademark of Otto's. You'd never know that he was the elder of the two.

Tanya had raised an eyebrow at his statement.

"I somehow end up with bags of the stuff that I have to give away. Never had much of a sweet tooth," he explained. "Guess you don't know what that's like."

"It's a curse," she said, getting up and stretching. "Honestly, it is."

"Anyway," he began, feeling mentally prepared to undertake a more serious conversation after she'd jarred his thoughts so abruptly, "you...you support the Hindustani independence movement?"

She paused what she was doing, papers halfway into the drawer she was placing them into. Looked up at him and squinted her eyes like he'd said something suspicious. Took a deep breath tinged with exasperation and looked away while she closed and locked the drawer.

"Imperial policy supported national self-determination for our neighbors a few years back," she said evenly, back turned while she folded her rain jacket over one arm. "Should the same not be extended under current political circumstances?"

_That was for the purpose of weakening the Federation_, he thought, confused for a moment before her motive in bringing that up occurred to him. Of course. It was a smart extension of their short-lived support for Baltic nation-states. Much of the wealth and power of Europa's other empires came from their foreign colonies. Without those, their former enemies would be weakened. For that, Degurechaff could stomach siding with a pacifist.

_Scary_, he thought, glad she was turned away so she didn't see him shiver. _Even when she takes the moral position, she's scary. Maybe more than normal._

Normally, she made her offensive views of the world known upfront. He didn't have to worry about entrapment. He'd made the right choice in blocking her attempts to meet anyone in a legal profession. She could turn any argument on its head. The nation's laws would be a mess after she was through with them.

Disagree, and he came out the unsympathetic one in the argument. Agree unreservedly, and it ended worse. Applied to current political circumstances more globally, or more locally, as it were, staunch support for national self-determination would mean one thing: upsetting their tentative peace by demanding the Empire be given the right to reassemble via international plebiscite.

Undoubtedly, many of the Empire's former territories would vote to become Imperial again. The educated classes would want independence, most definitely, from the Empire or from other powers. The average person likely valued the wealth and safety they'd enjoyed in the years prior to the war more than the names of their countries.

If Degurechaff walked her argument to the next logical step, she'd have him agreeing with her on what was, at best, a politically volatile topic. Talking to her without being on the defensive was akin to driving heedlessly through a field of landmines.

He cleared his throat, conscious of how long it had taken him to reply. "In theory, it's a noble aim," he said slowly, stepping backwards out her door and holding it open for her. "But it's not always a practical arrangement."

"How so?"

Degurechaff made him realize, and more often than he'd like to admit, why he'd heard more than one person claim to hate arguing with him. Somewhere around ten, he'd overheard it said between a tutor and his mother. Just the other week a general in one of the regional armies had said it right before he'd hung up the phone.

Naturally, they were both inclined to a semi-Socratic form of questioning, deceptively simple queries that forced the respondent to trot out claims ripe for refutation. It was a trait he'd had to work on correcting in casual conversation. Most of the time, he didn't intend to put anyone on the defensive. Having it turned on him like so made it obvious why it got under everyone's skin. He had yet to decide whether he appreciated the challenge or not.

"Efficient use of resources," he said, with an arrogant grin that would fit better on the face of the woman descending the stairs in front of him. There were no words harder to win against than one's own. "The Commonwealth's market access goes deeper and wider than any of their territories could achieve on their own."

"Largely because of artificial barriers to trade," she countered. "It would be disruptive to have to renegotiate terms with an independent Hindustan, true. But it's very possible to replicate the status quo if all parties are willing. And besides, that only counts material resources. The vast majority of the country is impoverished from constant resource extraction. The untapped human capital could be immense if it were utilized correctly."

_Human...capital? Utilize?_ he thought, raising his glasses so he could rub at his eyes. Her creativity in applying mechanical terms to people couldn't be denied. _At the same time_...he thought, reaching up to run a hand through his hair and fix a piece that had fallen instead of blowing at it in annoyance like he wanted to. At the same time, valuing people the same way you would value a piece of machinery meant there was a mechanism through which she could be persuaded to assign value to some human lives under some circumstances, if you were willing to use her own backwards logic against her. It was a baseline he could work off of.

"You're probably right about that," he agreed mildly, squinting against the sun after he pulled the door to the building open. He could feel the self-righteousness radiating off of her as surely as he felt the heat of the late afternoon under several layers of uniform. "Still, there's hardly been a worse time for disruption to the world order than now. We're still recovering from the last one."

"Meaning that now's the time to press the advantage," she said, stopping next to him on the curb while he waited for his adjutant to bring a car around.

"For Hindustan, maybe. For us-,"

He paused at the sound of a honk. A handsome red car pulled up along the curb, the interior a rich cream. Apparently, the Ispagnan ambassador was fond of driving his showpiece himself and making sure everyone saw it.

Tanya gave a low whistle of appreciation. Out of the corner of his eye, Lehrgen saw his own ride trundle up behind.

"Viktoriya, yes?" the ambassador asked, tapping his head.

"Yes, sir. Thank you," Tanya replied, ducking her head appreciatively and then resuming her inspection of the vehicle. Soon enough, Lieutenant Sauer had joined so that he could get a look himself. Eager to be home, Lehrgen headed off towards his car. Ernst wouldn't leave him waiting long.

"I'm glad you like her," Quevedo commented. Lehrgen heard him pat the side of his car. "She's almost as pretty as you are."

Lehrgen stopped dead. His head whipped around in time to catch Tanya attempting to smile. It came out as more of a grimace, if she wanted his opinion.

"If you'd ever like to have a good time, I'd be more than happy to give you a ride," Quevedo continued, winking at her in a way that made it clear the comment was not about cars.

With that, the other man drove off, leaving the rest of them frozen in place. Tasteless joke or no, that wasn't something fit for the ears of a girl. Depending on your tolerance for being slapped, it wasn't particularly fit for the ears of adult women either. Definitively, it wasn't something you'd say to one of the Devil's henchmen, no matter that it was currently possessing a human-sized doll, without expecting some consequences. Over time, that theory was seeming less likely. It had yet to be entirely ruled out.

"Give me the keys," Tanya said peremptorily to Ernst, seething with rage and pointing towards where the offending party was stopped in traffic not far ahead.

Sensing that he was dealing with an apex predator who was out for blood, his adjutant immediately obeyed her request, and Tanya was shortly in possession of the keys to a heavy, reinforced, military-issue automobile.

"You don't have a license," Lehrgen got out, too late, imagining what level of destruction she would be capable of wreaking behind the wheel if she could manage to get the car going. The excuse might have seemed trivial, but Degurechaff was loathe to actually violate laws. She'd just skirt her way around them when possible.

"You don't need a license to hit people with your car," she snapped.

If he could sum up what was wrong with her thought process in one interaction, this would be it. In a technical sense, she had a point. Becoming a legally licensed driver wasn't a prerequisite for committing vehicular homicide. But there was just something fundamentally wrong with her way of thinking about how laws worked.

"We need him alive," he sighed, motioning for her to hand over the keys.

"Getting the last word by driving away," she muttered, staring down the street with jaw and fists clenched.

_Getting the last word by making sure he can't say anything more isn't exactly fair either_, Lehrgen grumbled to himself. He turned to tell her the same.

"Degurechaff…?" he questioned instead, more than slightly worried that the emotional swing was a sign of a psychotic breakdown. Giggles. He was watching her fight to contain giggles. It wasn't a word that belonged with her, but it was the only way he could describe what she was doing.

She waved him off. "It's nothing," she said, still laughing, "nothing, I just remembered where I – I can't believe I – it's hard to explain."

She finished the bout of laughter and dropped the keys into his hand.

He was too dumbfounded to care about an explanation. It was hardly the first strange reaction he'd seen out of her. Aimlessly, like the gravity beneath his feet was no longer trustworthy, he walked to the car and climbed in.

Cautiously, Ernst got in the driver's seat a second behind him. Neither spoke for a few minutes. Near to exiting central Berun, the other man cleared his throat.

"Do you...need a drink?" he ventured.

"More than anything," Lehrgen replied, pinching the bridge of his nose. _What if there were more of her?_ echoed continually through his mind. Doomed. Ten years from now, the world was doomed.

"Me too," Ernst laughed, leaning his head down onto the steering wheel while they were stopped. There were days when Lehrgen felt bad about poisoning the younger man's mind with the same fears that infected his own. "Any preference?"

"Somewhere too loud to hear myself think," he replied promptly.

"It's early," Ernst said, looking down at his watch. "But it is a Friday. There's a good _biergarten _not so much further up past _Hallesches Tor._ It's on the canal."

"Do you know every bar in the city?"

"I'm sure I've missed one or two."

Lehrgen was self-conscious entering the establishment. He tugged at his collar. It marked him, singled him out from every other man in uniform so that he could never blend in with the crowd.

Already, the tables were near to being half-full. Anyone in the city who could find the time to spare had turned out. The seating along the canal was mostly taken in spite of the marshy ground underneath it. There were benefits to the advertisement his jacket made of his rank. Every group they passed huddled closer to indicate they could free up space if necessary.

Halfway through their perusal, Ernst stopped and crossed his arms. He looked up and down the waterfront. Glanced back up at the central patio every other second. Lehrgen gave an indulgent sigh. The tables sitting in the grass were conspicuously lacking the fairer half of the human population. The mud near the river wasn't kind to anyone not wearing sturdy boots.

_And not so kind to those of us with them either_, he remarked to himself, looking at his own pair. He could mistake them for their worn-out predecessors dragged through the ever-damp fields of Flanderin. He'd have to hand them off for polishing tomorrow.

He gestured to one of the less-crowded tables and the three men occupying it, working-class sorts who were themselves no stranger to dirt, shuffled to one end. The next few minutes he spent alone, while Ernst retrieved beer and food. A handy method of separating out foreign spies with perfect Germanian accents from citizens born-and-raised Imperial was a willingness to join the conversations of nearby strangers. As a member of the latter group, Lehrgen fiddled with his watch in the interim, putting it back ten minutes so that for once it was slow. It had only been ahead by eight.

Ernst returned with a double serving of _maibock _for each of them and half a roast chicken. The first order of business was accomplished as soon as the other man took his seat - downing one drink as fast as humanly possible. Finishing an entire beer in one long draft was a skill Lehrgen had never managed to learn, no matter how often older relatives, friends, or Rudersdorf had attempted to teach it to him. Ernst was done in a third of the time. Still, it was barely fifteen seconds later that his glass was turned over and the second one was in his hand.

"So," Lehrgen said, knocking a fist against his chest twice to release some excess carbonation, "you think Hindustan has any chance of gaining independence the way things are going?"

Ernst paused in the middle of separating the chicken to look up and pay back the indulgent sigh.

"Sir…" he said, resuming his knifework, "...can't we talk about something more interesting?"

Lehrgen raised an eyebrow. It hardly got more interesting than questions as expansive as this one. Political impact, emotional impact, philosophical considerations of rights and just governance, all with enough distance from their daily lives for academic debate.

"I'm not Degurechaff," Ernst objected.

Lehrgen felt a muscle in his forehead twitch. He put his beer down firmly. Before he could take issue with the implications of that statement, Ernst was waving his hands in front of himself apologetically.

"I only meant I can't say anything besides what's already been said in the papers. It won't be much of a debate. If you want to give a lecture, I don't mind, though," he said, with a smile and a shrug as he divided the food between them.

Lehrgen took out a cigarette. Lit it. Puffed a few times before throwing the pack and lighter across the table. He did not _lecture_. And he was quite sure he'd never mentioned to his adjutant that a few times it had run across his mind that in another life he might have made a good professor.

"You see the police got that killer in Dusseldorf?" Ernst asked, after taking a draw.

Lehrgen nodded.

"You think it's true? All the stories? Some of them seem…" he shuddered. "I don't know. Too extreme to be real."

Gruesome details and food did not a happy digestive system make. Unless you were a nurse or most men between the ages of nineteen and fifty, in which case there was little that could shock and appall enough to ruin a meal anymore. Instead of pushing his plate away like he might have done years past, Lehrgen shrugged, swung a leg over the side of the bench so he could watch the brisk flow of the river better, and continued eating.

"I don't know," he said, itching the side of his nose to prevent the inappropriate, if humorless, smile from being obvious. "Any time I read about the worse ways they executed people more than two, three hundred years ago, it seems a wonder we mostly stick to killing each other so cleanly."

Ernst gave a bark of laughter. With nothing more than a glance and a shrug between them, a decision was made. They drained their second drinks.

The ambassador's car, how and why the Americans had chosen to survive the last ten years without alcohol, the merits of the television set the office had purchased, those conversations devolved into which country made the next best beer, since the best was undoubtedly theirs, which country had the best girls, since it undoubtedly wasn't theirs, and on that note, which of their cities held the title in each category. Minna won handily on the first matter. Either Praga or Kopenhaven won out on the second, depending on if you counted only current Imperial territory or also included former.

Between each topic was a new glass of beer, and more often than not a new face. Ernst had a tendency to collect friends as the evening wore on. Partway through, when a smuggled-in bottle of liquor made its presence known, Lehrgen removed his jacket. Stuffed it under a leg. In a crowd of civilians, there were too many expectations attached to it. Expectations that he couldn't meet in the case that he ended the night respectably drunk. He deserved it, every once in a while.

Well on his way towards achieving a stupor capable of stealing the mind's ability to remember that such things as the future existed, let alone agonize over them, he felt a hand on him. It snuck up unsuspecting, took him by surprise, as much for the unexpected intrusion as for the maternal care in it. His reflexes were too slow. He had no chance to bat it away before it was combing errant strands of hair back into place.

His head tilted back further so he could see behind him, and the world spun for a moment. Nonetheless, there was no mistaking the culprit, the short, dark hair, the serious gaze in contrast to the mischievous smile. It fit better on her face now than it did twenty years ago, though he'd still hesitate to call it attractive.

"Marian," he greeted, trying to make room next to him.

She remained standing, peering down at him with her arms crossed. She was only two years his senior, and yet he couldn't remember a time when she hadn't treated him as a much, much younger brother.

"Your shoes are going to be an awful mess, you know," he told her, laughter coming easily to him.

"That's what a maid is for, dear," she replied, clucking her tongue like a mother hen at finding him in such a state. "I'm surprised to see you here."

"I could say a same."

"_The _same," she corrected him. "Work isn't far. Most of the big newspapers are a few streets up."

"You aren't in the city often."

"That _is _the point of being a traveling correspondent, you know," she said, finally sitting down. Without asking, she took his glass from him and finished it.

"Here long?"

She shook her head.

"No, no, off to Ostria in a few days. Should be back for Christmas, though. Then I'll write my final word on the harm the unification parties are doing to both our countries. I hope you aren't voting for them."

Adamantly, he shook his own head. "I always keep up with your articles," he mentioned.

"I should hope so," she drawled. "I am rather famous for them. Anyway, how's your brother?"

"Fine, fine," he began, turning inwards. "His youngest is - God, almost two by now. I'm glad you reminded me. I might've forgotten to write."

Silently, someone exchanged his empty glass for a full one while he lost himself in catching up with an old friend. Did it a second time half an hour later. She drank most of both. It cleared his head enough to make real conversation, which was a problem he'd have to rectify once she left.

"I do believe you're being summoned," she interrupted eventually, jerking her head towards the patio.

He turned to see Ernst waving at him. Near to shooing him off to have the evening to himself, Lehrgen recognized the woman standing next to him. She'd been a nurse stationed on the western front. One with a habit of sneaking off to find somewhere quiet to eat, same as he had. Given the dearth of options on a battlefield, they'd found solace in the same locations a handful of times.

He stole his drink back from Marian and took a long draft. In the end, everyone always preferred Ernst.

When he glanced back up, the younger man was still waving at him. Motioning him over, more like. He looked back at Marian, for all the world acting as though he needed her permission to leave his seat. Old habits weren't easy to break.

She shook her head like she was too disappointed for words. For all the ways in which she was forward-looking, she could be surprisingly old-fashioned. One way or another, he was only trying to make sure that he wasn't stuck trying to count sheep hopping the fence in order to fall asleep. The women who'd been with them deserved that reprieve as much as the men. And the year's most inopportune comment meant he'd more likely be seeing visions of blonde children stepping over bodies. Probably, Marian would tell the both of them to get their heads checked.

"Well, it's not like you're interested," he huffed.

She made a great show of rolling her eyes, then pushed one of his shoulders.

"Go," she said, with a forbearing smile. "I'll see you over Christmas."

xXx

_A third drink is almost always a mistake_, Tanya reminded herself, halfway through her fourth and regretting the decision. The third drink itself wasn't the problem. It was the all the ones that often followed once you'd failed to hold your ground at two. Allowing her anger to get the better of her and then accidentally letting slip a line quoted from the guiltiest of her former guilty pleasures didn't mean she intended on becoming one of the barely-employed, dysfunctional excuses for human beings that infested that manga._ Ahh, Gintama_, she thought, with a shake of her head. There were certain memories she would have been happier leaving in her first world.

She'd spaced her beers out properly. The first one might have gone more quickly than was wise, but whiling away time on a barstool wasn't a hobby of hers. Instead of going straight home, she'd wandered the extensive public gardens east of the General Staff Office. After that, it had only been occasional sips while she made dinner, tidied up her apartment, took a bath, finished a book.

And still, she was feeling the effects. There was no other explanation for the impractical ruminations that kept interrupting her effort to write a letter to Weiss now that she finally had something more worthwhile to bother him with than daily trivialities: Visha might be coming back to Berun.

Would she stay? Would she pick back up where she'd left off before the war like everyone else had? Would she keep as far away as she could from anything that reminded her of the worst years of her life? Frankly, Tanya wouldn't blame her. They weren't questions she could answer for her former adjutant. And really, the answers didn't matter. How someone else wanted to live their life wasn't any business of hers. Tanya had discharged her final duty as commanding officer. More than adequately, in fact. If there was any reason to hope that Visha stuck around, it was so that she could compensate for that by proving she had the knack for baking she'd made it sound like she did.

With a grunt of annoyance, Tanya poured the remainder of her beer down the sink. She'd had enough, and had spent enough time focusing on irrelevant details. She was going to finish her letter, go to bed, then check it in the morning to make sure her diction didn't show the same obvious signs of inebriation as her thought processes.


	18. Vacation, meant to be spent alone

.

**June 8, 1930  
Alerthausen, Vittgensteiner Land, Imperial Province of Westfalien**

"Stop that," Lina reprimanded, breaking the kiss and slapping the offending hand away. "Someone might see."

"They're all busy doing chores," Matheus Weiss laughed. In his house, that was as close as it got to private. Camp life hadn't entailed all so much of an adjustment for him.

He'd spent more than five years serving his country. Hadn't regretted it for a moment until he got back. Two sisters married as soon as draft notices came for their boyfriends. One widowed a year later. Awkward teenagers now full-fledged adults. Rambunctious children turned into mischievous teenagers. Life had gone on without him.

Except Lina. Dear, sweet, faithful Lina hadn't changed a bit besides growing from nineteen to twenty-four. Through months without letters and a year or more between phone calls she'd waited. Though, that could always be because the town had been stripped of all other eligible prospects. She hadn't been half so fond of him when he'd left, or she would've married him before he'd headed off like he'd asked. There was no shame in showing her how much he'd missed her. He still had plenty of catching up to do.

"Matze," Lina warned him a second time when he went back to what he was doing. She giggled nonetheless, her own hands not helping the situation. At all.

"I only get to see you when I come home," he protested.

His bank account hadn't been empty when he'd returned. As full as it might have been? Not exactly. He'd been more than a little generous with rounds of drinks for his squadron. There was money to be saved before he married. Money for a house with a few bedrooms, if the two sets of twins in the family were anything to go off. There was more of that to be made in a city than on any of the farms around home.

He came back when he could. At least once a month. Barely fifty kilometers but more than two hours, the roads being what they were out in the countryside. When he wanted a bit of time with his fiancée, his family understood and made themselves scarce.

The unmistakable sound of a wolf whistle pierced through the open window. His head whipped around and spotted two curious faces poked through.

"I told you," Lina said, half-screech and half-whisper.

Weiss slapped a hand over a rapidly-heating face. _What sort of example am I setting? _he bemoaned.

Edgar he didn't mind so much. Elfriede better not get any ideas. Twelve as of today, so they'd be getting to that age soon. Helluva birthday present it was, halfway to showing them how they'd come to be on this Earth.

"Mom says you got a letter," Elfriede reported.

"You didn't see anything," a voice belonging to another sister commanded, giving both children a light whack on the head. Weiss watched her make deliberate eye contact with both. A sure sign that they wanted nothing to do with the wrath of their eldest sister if they disobeyed.

"Sorry," Louise said, turning to him. "They ran off before I could catch them. Maybe, you know, close the blinds next time?"

"Yeah, yeah," Weiss said, making himself presentable.

His personal correspondence still came to the family home. He'd be moving from his apartment soon enough, so long as he didn't manage to mess up his own life up too badly in the interim. No point in confusing everyone with three address changes in as many years.

He knew the sender before he was close enough to read the return information. Only one person had handwriting like hers.

_What's the lieutenant colonel have to tell me now?_ he wondered, taking the letter from his mother and wandering off in search of something to open it with.

"Hey, Felix," he said, knocking at the door to the room his two youngest brothers shared. "You have a letter opener?"

"Somewhere," his brother replied, opening the door.

Weiss raised an eyebrow at his choice of attire. It wasn't every day you saw a robe layered on a shirt from an old costume layered over regular clothes topped with safety goggles and a fur hat.

"What are you wearing?" he laughed, while Felix hunted through a drawer.

"Mom said to clean my room. I didn't know where to put these."

_Don't just put them on instead_, Weiss thought, rolling his eyes while he sliced the top of the envelope and removed the letter. He could only imagine what Tanya would think if she saw the disorderly way his family conducted their business. He'd invite her if he weren't afraid it would result in a training program. Or if he thought she'd come in the first place.

She didn't totally ignore his letters, at least. He'd earned enough respect that she dutifully kept him informed about salient changes, still a superior updating her second-in-command of the latest strategic maneuvers, nothing more. He wasn't sure why he'd expected she might want to put the details of her everyday life into writing the way a friend would, make them seem as close as they had been for the four years they'd spent together. She'd been more than they'd deserved. It was no wonder she didn't want to go beyond practical concerns with people who'd probably held her back more than anything.

He crumpled the envelope and threw it into the nearest waste bin.

"Nice form!" Felix cheered, when the cross-room shot landed.

"Maybe you should try it," his sister Elsbeth cut in, gesturing at a pile. "You're supposed to be getting rid of your worn out things and you haven't given up one. These are _ancient_."

"Maybe I can sell 'em."

"Gross," she groaned, throwing a shirt at her twin brother. "Nobody wants your underwear, Felix."

Weiss gave a shake of his head, smiling a bit nonetheless. His smile widened as he read the details of the letter. He'd been praying Visha would be home in time for his wedding. It would feel like excluding one of his own sisters if she weren't there. Lina could meet her and put to rest all those stupid suspicions she'd got into her head when he'd mentioned the communal sleeping situation during desparate times. Plus, she'd make Tanya come along some way or another.

_Ahh, it's her birthday soon_, he remembered, sitting down in an open chair to pen his reply. Last year it had slipped his mind. She'd never talked much about herself, so besides an observed love of coffee and sweets, there was little in the way he could name about what she liked or didn't.

_Chocolate would melt..._he thought, tapping his pen on the table.

"Mo-om!" he called, voice raised enough to send it booming over the cacophony of a full house. Yelling orders across a battlefield had come to him rather more naturally than it had to others.

He waited until he heard a shouted reply back.

"Can you get me a jar of jam? One of the ones for gifts?"

**July 10, 1930  
General Staff Office, Imperial Capital Berun**

_Life is good._

It was a phrase he wasn't sure he'd ever say again. Not with the same truth he'd said it with before, back when it had been nothing more than an arrogant affirmation, smiling in the mirror at shoulders that were striped then studded then braided.

After the weather broke, the summer had come for Berun, a summer of cool dewy mornings and warm cloudless days, of long evenings that ended only when the rain came to patter soft music on the roof.

It was the first summer in eight years that his work has slowed. Not since he was Major von Lehrgen had life fallen into such a normal rhythm that the officer corps could justify time off for more than a day or two in a row. After a bit of convincing, he'd even managed to get Tanya to agree to leave him alone for a week. He'd get another week or so come fall when he took a vacation of his own.

A visit to Waldstätte couldn't be classified as strictly non-work related on account of visiting an old colleague. Still. Rudersdorf wouldn't begrudge him some leisure time.

After years of pestering, before she'd left for Ostria, Marian had set him up at a dinner with that friend of hers he'd always fancied at a distance. It had taken Johanna exactly eighteen minutes to grow bored once he started talking, and exactly eight for him to do the same when she did. There wouldn't be a second date. He'd be getting a letter saying _I told you so_ any day now. That wasn't the point. The point was, life was headed in the right direction.

The rest of the world, at least for the moment, was aligned with that sentiment. The _Reichsmarine _might be in sorry shape, but the other powers had all come to an agreement as to some limits on how badly they were going to be allowed to outclass the Imperial Navy. No matter how small of a step, it was a step forward.

As with all things, Degurechaff was determined not to see it his way.

"It's better than nothing," he stressed, for the third time in ten minutes.

She made a _tsk _of disagreement, so set on being disappointed with the progress for not being enough she was pacing next to the table in his office where they were supposed to be sitting, her shoulders pushed back angrily so she could clasp her hands behind her back.

"Battleships and aircraft carriers," she huffed. "How does that help us?"

"Battleships are the main part of a fleet," he cried, near to tearing his hair out.

"They're slow and unwieldy," she scoffed. "And we're surrounded by land. Nobody needs an aircraft carrier as a temporary base for a bombing run."

"Be that as it may, sometimes it's the sentiment that's more important. Would you rather they continue building unrestricted?"

"No," she said, dropping back into her chair in defeat. "Of course not. But excuse me for thinking we're going to be so far behind on submarine design we'd better hope we never see a naval conflict again or it'll go in the same section of the history books as Dacia, 1924."

"Who said we aren't designing anything?" he laughed. On occasion, her humor was in the right place.

They were words he came to regret a moment later, when her attention shifted from her own thoughts to focus on him. There were people who needed to know about the ship-building venture in Turgu. Degurechaff was not one of them, and wouldn't be until the project affected his work in a material way.

That she had surmised the importance of keeping their technology current was no surprise. They'd all seen what it had cost the Federation to modernize by haphazard leaps, with neither the technical knowledge nor training they needed. No amount of espionage had yielded exact specifications. Each submarine had been outfitted with a different amalgamation of incorrect parts.

The Empire aimed to have a more respectable fleet than that one day. There was no reason to think they couldn't, so long as they kept in mind it should never grow large enough to antagonize their neighbors.

_Stop staring at me like that_, he begged her silently, feeling his pulse jump in primitive response to the predatory scrutiny, the intensity of the gaze boring into him betraying a rabid interest to know more.

"The Navy spends all their time these days day-dreaming," he coughed. "They're worse off than we are."

There was no saying whether she truly believed the excuse, but she nonetheless accepted it with a nod.

"Our submarines were the most advanced by far by the end of the war," he continued. "I doubt if anyone besides the States or Commonwealth is particularly close to surpassing them as of yet."

"Ahh, yes, our submarines that could only hit targets they'd have been better off missing."

"Besides that part," he chuckled.

"You ever ride in one?"

"I was spared the pleasure."

"Keep it that way if you can. There were times I thought _I_ was going to have to duck."

"I'm in no rush after what happened to that Commonwealth K-class a few days back. Not the way I'd want to go."

"Dove below maximum depth, was it?" Tanya asked, shaking her head. "Not a good week for them. You saw Conan Doyle died the other day?"

"You read his work?" he asked curiously.

It was the first he'd heard of what might be termed a hobby, a pursuit independent of and utterly unrelated to her fixation with the Army. For that, he didn't mind letting their conversation drift entirely away and into trivialities.

She shook her head. "No, just recognized the name. I hadn't realized he was still alive."

"He published a book….three years ago, maybe. Didn't get much space in the papers with the war," he said, sighing to himself at having his brief hope killed in the cradle. "Before that I think the last one was back when I was a child. Everything else is in serial form."

"It's hard to imagine," she snorted, eyeing him.

"What?"

"You as a child."

"I'd be hard to recognize," he agreed. "I was blond, actually. Up until I was ten or eleven. Never as light as yours, though."

"Did you read Doyle?" she asked, switching the subject back before he could lapse into divulging any more unnecessary information about his personal life, for which he was thankful, even if her disinterest was more than a little rude.

He rocked his head side to side. "Not really," he shrugged. "I didn't keep up with the serialization. Only the books. And that more out of fondness for the past than anything."

She raised an eyebrow.

"My...ah...a friend from the Commonwealth gifted them to me. Reminds me of Londinium."

"You liked it there?"

"Very much," he confirmed. "Sometimes I wonder if I shouldn't try to make my way back more permanently."

"That nice?" she asked, despite the frown.

It wasn't something he could explain to her. She'd never understand. She was too single-minded, had probably never suffered a moment of self-doubt over what she wanted to do with her life, not the way the rest of them did.

He'd never do it and he knew it. It was nothing more than seeing greener grass on the other side of the channel. A different life. One of relative ease as some unimportant attaché doing nothing more than taking a few orders and leaving work behind as soon as the clock struck five. A beer over lunch, another at the pub, a third when he got home.

He spread his palms in response to her question.

"Weather isn't much different. The food is, but it's close enough you rarely miss home. And they've only got about a quarter of our country's problems," he explained, with a short laugh. "Anyway, it's a good memory, and I was hardly going to turn down a first edition set to serve as a reminder."

"What?" she asked, shooting up straighter in her chair, palms slapping down on the table. "You have all first editions?"

"Short story collections too. If you're so interested, you could - ahh - that is, I could bring one in."

_There's being sociable and there's socializing_, he grumbled to himself._ Learn the difference_. Encouraging a healthy hobby was one thing. Inviting her to browse through his library was quite another.

"No, though I'd take a look if you ever wanted to sell them," she replied, relaxing back comfortably into her chair, legs askew and fingers crossed behind her head. "But on that note, a personal question, if I may?"

"Okay..." he hesitated, clasping his hands together, elbows on the table in front of him, chin resting on his knuckles, unsure how to deny her request without being impolite.

Her seventeenth birthday was in a week's time. How she was planning on celebrating, who she was planning on celebrating with, whether she had plans at all, he hadn't a clue. More than anything, he hoped to keep it that way. He wanted no hint of an invitation to any sort of party she was throwing for herself.

Privately, he thought he might be looking forward to her vacation more than she was. He wouldn't have his respite ruined by seeing her in the middle of it.

"What sort of books do you read?"

_That was all?_ he thought, shoulders relaxing. He took a minute before answering. For a voracious reader, there were no easy responses.

"I haven't had the leisure to read anything purely for enjoyment yet," she clarified. "I thought I might start with some recommendations. I'm familiar with most of the old classics, but nothing recent."

_So it is a new hobby_, he thought, hiding a small smile behind his hands.

"There's Paul Mann," he began, starting with something obvious and unobjectionable.

She leaned forward and motioned for his pen. Hers had already been dropped in her bag. He handed it over as he continued, naming a few pieces of recent philosophy that could serve as introductions to the subject. From there, she might finally learn about the existence of a concept called "ethics".

Beyond that, for every book he wanted to name there was some reason or other to unname it. The war was a nearly unavoidable subject in most current Germanian literature. Even books that were critical of the event couldn't avoid romanticizing parts of it, and she was deep enough in love as things stood.

"How's your Françoise?" he asked. "I know we aren't on the best terms, but they do have a thriving publishing industry."

"I can get through basic conversations with it. Not much else."

"Albionion?"

"I read it well. Speaking…" she shrugged. "I'm alright."

_That's odd_, flitted through his mind. Normally, Albionian was a third language to Françoise or Rus. That she chose to acquire it proficiently, and no others, was impractical on top of being atypical. They'd spent far longer at war against their immediate neighbors.

"General," he heard Ernst call, interrupting his ruminations with a knock to his door.

"Alright," he called back. As usual, he'd failed to note the minute hand had finished its trip around the clock face.

"I believe Valentin Proust's series has all been translated into Albionian at this point," he said, organizing his papers, pausing slightly as he tried to remember the name the translation had used. "_A Remembrance of Things Past._ Or you could try Francis Fitzgerald."

The name Herbert Lawrence hovered on his tongue, nearly spilling into the conversation the way it might have with anyone else capable of an in-depth analysis of the relative strengths and weaknesses of different navies. No amount of maturity beyond her years excused an adult man recommending such things to a girl. And he'd leave off confessing to the guilty pleasure of science fiction novels. As it was, he'd likely already gone far enough astray from the sort of title that Tanya would consider worthwhile reading.

"Thanks," she smiled, making to leave. "I'll let you get to your other appointments."

"Degurechaff," he called. She turned back. "My pen."

"Oh. Yes."

She tossed it back to him.

"Well, if I don't see you tomorrow, have a nice week off," he told her, figuring he was safe to mention the pending event now that he knew he was not going to be included in any part of it.

"I will. I'll be up visiting the Ugar family in Bremmen, I'll leave their number with Lieutenant Sauer in case you need something."

_Ahh, good_, Lehrgen thought to himself. _She did find something for herself to do_. Though he wouldn't have volunteered himself for the task of providing Tanya company on her birthday, it was as mildly depressing to think that her one-sided friendship with him was the closest thing she could find to companionship for marking her next year as it was mildly reassuring that she was normal enough to want to commemorate the event in the presence of a good friend like Ugar.

_Now that I think about it..._ he considered, a brilliant notion coming to mind. Originally, he'd hired her to prevent her from getting herself into a position where she could cause even more harm. Ugar was a sensible enough person and worked in an industry mostly removed from the Army or politics. Lehrgen had read the man's personnel file back a few years ago. His family ran some sort of mercantile shipping business, and not one that tended to intersect with the Empire's navy. Most importantly, he'd hire Tanya without question.

"Col-General?" Ugar answered, when Lehrgen called a few hours later, just before he left for the evening.

"Sorry for the surprise," he greeted. "I hope I'm not interrupting dinner."

"No, sir. We tend to eat early so Liselotte can get to bed on time."

_Too wholesome_, Lehrgen told himself, inhaling a puff of smoke, plagued by a sudden guilt at foisting Degurechaff off on the idyllic family. Until he'd been old enough to conduct himself as an adult, he hadn't been allowed at the dinner table with them.

"The family is well?"

"Couldn't be better."

"I hear Degurechaff is visiting."

"Yes, sir."

"I hate to ask this of you," he said, rubbing at his forehead, "but I think you'll want what's best for her too. I think it's time she found a place for herself that isn't in the Army. Wouldn't you agree?"

"It's not that I don't agree," Ugar sighed, "but I tried my hand at convincing her long ago."

"It might be different now, with no war," Lehrgen pressed. "Perhaps she'll listen this time."

"If she won't listen to you…"

"I don't have another job to offer her."

"I wouldn't want to disrespect her reason for serving," Ugar said. "A daughter picking up the flag of her fallen father."

_A likely story_, Lehrgen laughed to himself. If Degurechaff even knew her own father's name, he'd be surprised.

"Anyhow, she's doing something she enjoys, that's the most important part," Ugar continued. "And she always spoke highly of having you as a superior."

"I'm not sure her reasons for it are what you imagine," Lehrgen replied, another form of guilt entirely making him wince at the other man's words. "I wish I didn't know them myself, honestly. Then I might not have to worry about what happens when she gets older."

For now, the age restriction was his saving grace. He'd once thought it would be for the best to keep her in the Army. That was back when they'd been winning the war, when an Imperial victory might have ensured a lasting peace, one that she could do little to destroy. Personnel's attempts to weed out the worst elements notwithstanding, a full quarter of the ranks were sure to support tearing the unhappy peace they'd gotten instead to shreds at the first opportunity.

"Sir?" Ugar asked curiously.

"You're better off not knowing," Lehrgen sighed. "Just...would you want your daughter doing that for you?"

"No. I couldn't stand the thought."

"Then think of it as doing a favor for another father," he commented, taking another draw off his cigarette, wondering how low he'd fallen to be faking an emotional appeal on behalf of some irresponsible dead man. "Just promise you'll at least make the offer to her."

"I'll see what I can do, sir."

_Perfect_, Lehrgen thought, hanging up the receiver and picking up his briefcase. _Life is good._

xXx

_My first vacation_, Tanya thought, skipping off happily to the library after finishing work for the week. _Normal life, here I come_.

There were any number of differences between the hiring process for the Army and a Japanese corporation. To start with, she hadn't been given much of a benefits package. Obviously, an Army couldn't function if soldiers started holding up their contract and demanding to take their promised four weeks' vacation in the middle of a war.

That left the process of taking leave largely up to the whim of your commanding officer. Technically, Lehrgen wasn't that anymore. Jumping at the first mention of time off was an amateur mistake, so it was lucky for her that her boss intuitively understood the position she was in and hadn't taken her lukewarm response as an outright rejection. Really, it was difficult to find people so naturally suited to managerial roles.

Stepping around a food cart, her nose crinkled at the morass of processed meat on display in front of her.

_It's a real disappointment about the Commonwealth,_ she sighed, waving away the vendor's attempt to sell her on eating an arterial death-sentence. Food that felt close enough to Imperial wasn't a glowing recommendation in her book. Once the world had forgotten her name, a country with more money and fewer neighbors would be her preference. Escaping a steady diet of meat and potatoes would have been a welcome bonus.

Any thoughts her boss was having about making the same move and leaving her high and dry without a patron needed to be eliminated. Relieving some stress was as simple as making sure his workload stayed manageable. That was something she was perfectly capable of helping with.

With a heartfelt smile, she pulled open the door to the city's central library. Making progress was always a good feeling. Simply listing off your accomplishments, no matter how incredible, was never a good networking strategy. That was especially true because the vast majority of her accomplishments had nothing to do with the sort of job she saw herself working in ten years' time. Plus, there were so many items that at some point it all sounded like gratuitous bragging.

If she were to write up a résumé, it would definitely give her prospective employer a "shoot first, ask questions later" sort of feel. Everyone wanted a proactive employee, but unless she was applying to become a bouncer at one of Berun's nightclubs, no one would want to hire someone who preferred to solve problems with her fists over her head.

Aside from that, as someone who had worked in HR, she could state with confidence that having the right skills or a polished résumé was only the basic requirement. If you wanted to increase your chances of getting hired, the best thing to do was to know somebody on the inside, and the higher up the corporate hierarchy, the better.

If and when she found the opportunity to meet such people, she needed to be prepared to make good conversation with them. There was a natural barrier between an orphan and the sort of person she'd like to connect with when it came to a society that had only recently abolished a monarchy, and that under duress. It was therefore of utmost importance that she be able to present herself as someone who had tastes and hobbies in common with the wealthier classes.

Being well-read was something she'd prided herself on in her past life, and she intended on doing the same in this one. Functional value aside, reading was something she genuinely enjoyed. Honestly, she'd be happy to read most anything, but if she was going to get ahead in life, she should start with making sure she it was the right books.

Tanya presented her library card to the clerk along with the five titles she was allowed, stuffed them in the bag she'd brought, and made her way home.

_Time to pack_, she told herself, crossing her arms and staring at her closet.

For a week-long vacation, she shouldn't need much. When it came to visiting a businessman, it was better to err on the formal side, so a few of her work outfits would do. No matter how much he'd tried to downplay it, she'd gotten the sense that Ugar's family was relatively well-off. Claiming to be no more than middle-class was a widely-accepted pretense provided you weren't fabulously wealthy. In other words, he was a connection who couldn't be ignored.

Losing touch in the immediate aftermath of a war wasn't what she'd call a unique story. You didn't realize it'd be the last time you saw someone until a few weeks in. By then, it was too late to exchange phone or address information.

On the surface, there was little good to be said about a policy like universal conscription. Like with anything, it wasn't all bad. There were archived records for nearly half the population in the General Staff Office. Once she'd persuaded a clerk in Personnel to dig up Ugar's contact information for her, she'd written to him first thing. Letting data go stale inevitably made it more difficult to monetize.

A visit to his family in Bremmen had been forthcoming. He'd commented a few times in his letter what a valuable employee she must be at the Staff Office, so an offer to join his company was almost implied. She was leaving first thing tomorrow morning to follow up on that.

Tanya folded her best shirt and placed it carefully in her suitcase. _Shirts, pants, underwear, pajamas_, she repeated to herself, ticking off her mental list. _Toothbrush. Socks. Shoes._

She was missing one thing only - a bathing suit. After a few days in Bremmen, she was treating herself to a real vacation. That part of her plans she'd kept from Ugar. There was no doubt he'd insist on her having company for her birthday. The last thing she wanted was his six-year-old tagging along and bothering her. A beach chair and a book were all the companionship she needed.

_Beach towns have plenty of bathing suits on sale,_ she nodded to herself, latching her suitcase shut and walking into the kitchen for her daily dessert ration: two spoonfuls of the best strawberry jam she'd ever tasted.

Some people didn't appreciate the value of a tough boss. It was disappointing, but Weiss had turned out to be one of them. His letters were nothing more than surface conversation designed to keep her at arm's length. There had yet to be a suggestion that they might see each other again.

She shook her head to clear it. Staying close with former coworkers was always easier in theory. There was nothing unusual about their relationship petering off.

_A vacation and a networking opportunity_, she reminded herself, digging out a third spoonful of jam as an early birthday indulgence. _Life is good._

xXx

_Five hours. Four hours. Three hours. Two-and-a-half hours. Two hours. An hour and a half. One hour. Forty-five minutes. Thirty minutes_, General Erwin von Romel counted. He hadn't watched his clock this closely since he was an uninterested schoolboy.

Used to be he considered work a sort of vacation on its own. No wife asking for this or that, no children screaming for that or the other thing. Now, work was-

_Don't think about it_, he told himself with a sigh. For two weeks, pretend it doesn't exist. Until he got back, he wasn't going to read a single thing. Not a book, not a newspaper, definitely not a report. He'd make the waiter read the menu to him.

There weren't children at home any longer. A thank you to his advancing age for that reprieve. There was still a wife, somehow, but once you got her away from home she got unstuck from her ways. A thank you to her advancing age, too. No amount of pretending they were newly wed again would result in more children.

_Twenty minutes_, he thought, glancing at the clock again. _That's close enough._

He buzzed an adjutant.

"Tell the Deputy Director to get out of his hidey-hole."

He poured a drink while he waited. He pushed it across his desk and poured another, slightly stronger, for himself.

"You wanted to see me, sir?" Lehrgen asked, not more than two minutes later.

Romel gestured for him to sit, then at the drink.

Lehrgen squinted down at it.

"Ahh, sir…" he said, peering at his watch, "it's not even one o'clock yet."

"It's Saturday," Romel shrugged. "Drink. Don't tell me one is enough to make you useless the rest of the day or I'll have to replace you."

Lehrgen picked up the glass. Didn't drink, just held it in his hand.

"Drink. We're celebrating."

"We...are?"

"You're being promoted."

Romel watched the interplay of bemusement and bewilderment for a few seconds. A joke wasn't good if you let the other person in on it too soon. Dry humor went right over the head of men who took themselves too seriously so long as you kept a straight face.

"...sir?"

"Temporarily," Romel relented. "Drink. It's an order."

Grudgingly, his subordinate did as requested.

"Smoke?" Romel asked.

He saw Lehrgen's hand reaching for a pocket.

"I've got one," Romel said, opening a drawer and removing two cigars.

"Oh, I don't-,"

"You're in charge of the office while I'm away," Romel reminded him. Everyone knew what was expected of them. Still, it was best to give someone enough responsibility that no one called him to ask a question. "The man in charge smokes cigars."

Lehrgen reached across and took the tobacco being offered. One inhale later and Romel was faking a coughing fit to hide his laugh at the very real coughing fit happening on the other side of his desk.

"Your father not teach you how to smoke a cigar?" Romel chuckled. "Don't breathe it in."

"Pipes," Lehrgen coughed. "He smoked a pipe. I knew you didn't inhale that."

"I refuse to believe no one's ever tried to pass you a cigar."

"I just never…" he shrugged, with a final cough, shaking his head.

"You getting on alright?"

"Hmm?"

"Without the family."

His youngest general glanced away at that.

"Another drink?"

"No - ahh - no," Lehrgen said, waving a hand and giving a hint of a smile. "I just feel bad saying it."

"Who the hell am I going to tell?" he snorted. He poured himself that second drink instead.

"I feel guilty sometimes," Lehrgen sighed, taking a successful puff of his cigar this time, "that I didn't see so much of them in the last years. But day to day…"

"...it's not so much different?" Romel guessed.

"I think I actually write my brother more now that I know I have to. Can't pretend I'll drop by on the train anymore."

"It's how it goes," he agreed. "Good. Then you're up for keeping an eye on your boss. I'd like not to come home to a fight we can't win."

A grimace and a long billow of smoke were the only responses he got to that.

"Here. Take this if you're afraid he'll pull rank on you," Romel said, opening another drawer and tossing out one of the sundry ceremonial decorations he'd been given when he received his least favorite promotion. "You can even sit in my office."

"Sir, I'm not sure-,"

"That was a joke."

His office was his office, no matter how much he hated the place. You didn't invite another man to sleep in your bed while you were away.

"And don't take what I said about Schleichel too seriously," Romel placated. "The man's only crime is thinking I've always got an ace hidden up the sleeve. I've known him since we were first lieutenants. He does nothing without my approval."

Some men didn't suffer losses easily. Romel was one himself. Still knew when he'd been beaten. It was as pathetic to give up too easily as it was not to face reality. Though he'd admit he had a soft spot where the latter type was concerned.

The new political class wasn't as overwhelmingly fond of his profession as the old one had been. Romel wasn't overwhelmingly fond of them either, nor did he have the patience to pretend to be most days. That was where an old friend came in. Amiable in a way most career officers weren't. Smart aside from an irrational trust in Romel's prowess. The highest-ranked general left from Eastern Command whose remaining grudge against the Federation made him that much more passionate about advocating on behalf of getting the Army what it needed to become a proper defense force again.

It was, in his own opinion, his best stroke of genius yet. A person who enjoyed the politicking. Another who enjoyed the paperwork. A person whose every instinct was to move forward. A person whose natural inclination was to hold back. One who would inspire each regional army to play their part with single-minded focus; one who would puzzle over how to best make the parts into a whole. Separately, his director and deputy director of Operations had their flaws; together, they were exactly what he needed.

Lehrgen hummed noncommittally to his reassurance.

"Trust me on this, Brigadier General. It's better for you if your hands aren't dirty with all the politics of it. It wouldn't sit well with you, and you'll be no good to me if you don't believe in what you're doing. And God forbid we only had me to rely on when it comes to wooing the great holders of the purse-strings," Romel said with a dry laugh. "No matter what else you think about Schleichel, you can't help but like the man."

"For someone who claims to hate the politics of the office as much as you do, sir-,"

"Don't say it," he muttered. "I've just found the only way I can to do what needs doing. Doesn't mean I wouldn't rather be doing this the straightforward way."

"As you say, sir," Lehrgen said. The man couldn't have looked less convinced that he was wrong.

"I'm leaving on the hour," Romel said, knocking back the rest of his liquor. "Have a three o'clock train to make. You're dismissed as soon as you finish your drink. For the day. It's good to pretend we have lives every once in a while."


	19. Shipping Wars

.

**July 13, 1930  
St. Godehard, Bremmen, Free Imperial Hannseatic City**

_I should have foreseen this_, Tanya groaned, wanting to bash her head with the heavy book she was staring at. Oversights of this sort were inexcusable. If she'd still been in the Army and had forgotten something as elementary as this, being taken out back and shot for incompetence would have been getting off too lightly.

Suppressing the noise of complaint that wanted to escape her throat, she shifted in her unforgiving wooden seat. For reasons so obvious they didn't deserve mention, she wasn't exactly thrilled that her fellow soldiers had thought her pious. Regardless, she'd never openly disputed the impression. What with the prayers the Type 95 required and her semi-regular personal "prayer" ventures during War College, she'd almost go so far as to say it was a miracle no one ever asked her to join them in worship.

Managing your public image was a must for any professional, so she couldn't absolve herself by saying she couldn't have predicted the unfortunate circumstances she found herself in at that very moment. If she'd bothered to put any thought into it, she would have known not to schedule her arrival to the Ugar household until Sunday evening. Most good families, a group in which Ugar undoubtedly aspired to be included, went to church on Sundays.

Hearing the call to stand, Tanya broke herself out of her self-resenting diatribe, following along a second behind the rest of the congregation and taking the opportunity to adjust her slightly-too-tight dress in the process. _At least corsets aren't in fashion anymore, _she groaned to herself.

Tanya didn't have any particular issue with going inside of churches. She wasn't going to let a personal dispute morph into a superstition that controlled which buildings she would or wouldn't enter. Even if the builders had believed themselves divinely inspired, the soaring ceilings, finely wrought metalwork and carefully cut glass were nothing more than misattributed products of human ingenuity and cooperation.

She didn't hate churches. But services? It would be appropriate, at this time, to make a confession: she despised those with every ounce of her being. She couldn't concentrate on anything better or else she'd miss the cues to follow along. Nothing and no one deserved to be forgiven for squandering away her personal time, least of all something associated with worshiping Being X.

Her journey to Bremmen hadn't begun on such a bad note. As she'd suspected, Ugar's family wasn't hurting for money, regardless of the fact that he seemed to consider them nothing much above average.

Describing his home with a word as modest as "townhouse" was only correct by a stretch of the technical definition. It dwarfed a single-family home in rural Japan. Unless her memory was faulty, those hadn't come with space for live-in staff.

It was easy to forget she was living in an era where having means meant having servants as a matter of course. She was prepared to work for her money, so she doubted she'd ever have the liberty to waste it by hiring people to mill about her house all day. Of course, she had nothing against the idea of growing unexpectedly wealthy. She simply put more of a premium on privacy than on avoiding basic chores.

That didn't mean she wasn't going to enjoy being waited on to the fullest. For one, it turned dinner from a necessity into an event. What had previously been the most pointless part of what she'd learned in her time as an officer - the basics of fine dining - finally got put into practice. Neither her home country nor her orphanage had covered what possessing four separate types of forks was meant to accomplish.

Hearing her first name thrown around by someone who was more or less a coworker had been an unexpected addition to the night. On the average day, she didn't hear the name "Tanya" at all. When it came to work, she wanted to keep it that way. There was value in being treated as another officer. It distinguished her from the other girls at work, notable only for how young she was, which was especially important for preventing any repeats of wearing a borrowed dress.

She should have known the change in how Ugar addressed her wouldn't have any positive side effects. All it meant was that he hadn't been willing to include her perfectly suitable outfit as an appropriate, if alternative, member of the Sunday Best category. She'd explained she had nothing else to wear. That way, no one could expect her to change. It hadn't stopped his wife from borrowing something from a friend's daughter.

If Tanya were forced under pain of death to come up with one good thing to say about Mass, it was that it was so standardized. Even the holiday services each had their own set of predictable rites. The service didn't have the chance to drag on at the whim of the priest conducting it, so within the hour her ordeal was over. At their next stop, all she had to worry about was that one of the city's better restaurants wouldn't have a single item on the menu that appealed to her. A worry she put behind her as soon as she laid eyes on the fish section.

xXx

There were some conversations there was no easy way to begin.

If he had to - absolutely had to - Maximilian Ugar - just Max to his friends - could have those conversations with his employees, or his business partners, or his clients. He knew he didn't get every last Mark out of everyone. His father reminded him of it with frequency. That was alright. He'd rather have the friend. And if he could avoid it, which he usually could, he didn't have difficult conversations with his friends.

That brought him to Tanya. She was on a rare and well-deserved vacation. And here he was, about to ask her to spend a day back in an office. Possibly insulting her in the process.

_General von Lehrgen is right, though, _he told himself. She'd never had a family. A home. She deserved a last chance at it while she was still young enough to rediscover some of the childhood she'd missed out on. A year or two to indulge herself. Used to military life as she was, she'd looked startled even to hear her own first name the night before. And this morning, the pitiful way she'd said _I don't have anything different _when asked about her clothes, like she couldn't let herself spend some extra money on things she didn't need for work.

He chewed at his current bite of food too long, working out what he might say if she denied his offer. Oblivious to his indecision, Tanya remained enraptured with her meal. At least she didn't look like she was about to start drooling. Last night, he hadn't been so sure.

"Tanya?" Ugar began. She looked up at him. "Would you have any interest in going on a tour of my office tomorrow?"

It was a coward's way out. He didn't want to ruin Sunday lunch by bickering with her over her chosen career. He'd ask tomorrow, after he'd shown her the highlights of what a future job might be.

"Yes, I'd like that very much," she replied brightly.

"And if you'd like to stay a little longer, I know your birthday is in a few days," he added. Knowing Tanya...well, he couldn't guarantee she wouldn't be alone if she went back home. "We could do something for you."

"Oh, ahh, thanks for the offer, but I already had plans."

"Oh? With who?" he asked, gladdened at the thought she'd made a few friends who could be called upon to eat cake with her.

"Ahh..." Tanya faltered, scratching the back of her head.

He smiled, wondering what she was so embarrassed over. There was no need to feel guilty admitting she'd made a new friend who she'd rather pass the time with than her old colleague Max Ugar. If she'd found another young woman who could commiserate with her, Ugar would greet that news with not a spot of jealousy.

"A girlfriend, is it?" he pressed.

If anything, Tanya grew even more uneasy at the suggestion. Her face paled so badly she looked at risk of fainting until a florid blush replaced the pallor.

"Ahh...n-no," she stuttered out. "No, I was...actually, umm, I was just-,"

"You aren't going to be alone, are you?" he asked suspiciously, fearing the answer was yes, "I wouldn't want to think-,"

"No," she interrupted, with a nervous laugh. "No. Umm - something's already been set up after work is all. General von Lehrgen is treating, so I'm looking forward to it."

Ugar gave a good-natured sigh. He had a long road ahead of him if he wanted Tanya to find a life outside her job. Another thing he'd have to work on if she accepted his offer to make a home up in Bremmen was to find her some female friends. The only one she'd had before had been assigned to her.

There was nothing wrong with a boss treating a valued employee to a round of drinks, but she'd doubtless have much more fun going out to a bar with some of the other girls around the office, even if she didn't consider them close enough to call friends just yet. Apparently, she realized how underwhelming it was herself. There wasn't much other reason for her to have acted so uneasy about telling him her plans, though he couldn't understand why she'd reacted so - _ahh. I get it. Even if I wish I didn't, _Ugar thought, wanting to shake his head and groan in disappointment.

He wasn't a man for gossip, so he'd largely avoided the stories that went round the tables at the officers' club. He'd still heard snippets here and there. Assuredly out of nothing more than boredom and lack of other subjects to talk about aside from the depressing reports from the front, some who knew her back at Central Command had made a game out of theorizing what the future held for the Army's most peculiar little officer. The only thing they'd all agreed on was that she was doing the job she was meant for.

As much as he wanted to deny it, even Ugar couldn't pretend he hadn't noticed that Tanya had a conspicuously more cheery attitude around Lehrgen than she took with her other superiors. There was no obvious reason for her to treat him differently than the rest, except one that Ugar had intentionally shut his ears to whenever others got to remarking on it.

When you followed that thought to its logical conclusion, it raised some uncomfortable questions. He and Lehrgen were of a similar age. Tanya could be said to act uncharacteristically upbeat in Ugar's presence as well. He didn't want to consider whether or not his wedding ring was the only thing preventing him from likewise being pursued by his young friend. An upstanding gentleman like Lehrgen wouldn't want to think about it either, so much so that the thought might never enter his mind.

_Actually, I think he might know, _Ugar decided after a moment. Lehrgen was a smart man. It was unlikely the same chit-chat Ugar had overheard had escaped his notice. He'd spent more time in Berun than Ugar had. Plus, it would explain why the other man had come across as so desperate to ship Tanya off somewhere far away from him. If he'd realized her infatuation, it would be an easy way to sever her attachment.

_I'm not sure her reasons for it are what you imagine. I wish I didn't know them myself. _The ambiguous, slightly ominous way he'd put it became clear once you considered the situation. Truer words couldn't be said than _you're better off not knowing_. He'd even added in being worried what happened as she grew older.

Maximilian Ugar smiled despite himself. He wasn't the only one looking out for Tanya's best interests. Instead of breaking her heart with a firm denial, Lehrgen was working behind the scenes, painlessly trying to shepherd her away and into a normal life. That was an effort he didn't mind helping. Even if it meant yet another difficult conversation with her.

"I hate to bring this up," Ugar said, clearing his throat, "but I'm not sure who else will."

"Alright…" Tanya said hesitantly.

"I don't mean to pry, really. It's just, you're at an age where you might be thinking about - ahh - about relationships. I know I was."

"I know the…" she began, eyes glancing over towards his daughter as she told his wife about her dream from the night before, "...finer details. And I won't do something stupid over a pretty face. No need to worry about teenage irresponsibility on my account."

She pointedly went back to her meal like the discussion was over because she said so. A mature seventeen-year-old. But seventeen nonetheless.

"Just don't rush into anything, is all I'm asking. No matter the type of person you think you're interested in right now, we go through phases, it can take a few years to work out what you're really looking for. Give it some time and see if some of the boys your age don't start appealing to you instead. We might take a little longer to mature than you girls, but we do get there."

Tanya about spat out the water she was drinking, looking as frightened as a soldier on his first day in the trenches.

"I won't tell anyone, especially not anyone you work with," he assured her, somewhat unnecessarily given that the person in question already knew. She'd only be more embarrassed if she found that out. "As your friend, I just thought it was my duty to tell you that I don't think it's the best path for you."

"I...ahh...I see," she replied, clearing her throat a few times, blush sprouting anew on her face.

Ugar hadn't meant to hurt her feelings, but someone had to take on the job of telling her that she should find someone more suitable and closer to her own age. People who didn't know her would see her attempt to win over a promising Imperial officer and draw the conclusions they always did about the motives of pretty but penniless young women pursuing men with deep pockets. Tanya had lived a hard enough life as it was. She didn't need to add any more complications to it.

"It's alright," he reassured. "I'm not trying to pass any judgement on it myself, but others may. If it's really what you want, it's not my place to tell you different, but I want to make sure you've really thought it through before anyone starts talking behind your back."

"There isn't much of anything to talk about yet," Tanya mumbled, red-faced and staring down at her plate. "And really, I'm not sure there ever will be, so don't get too worried for me. But, umm, thanks for the advice."

Ugar gave her a small grin when she spared a glance up at him. She was nothing if not realistic about her prospects of success. That would make it easier for the eventual rejection to go down.

"How did you guess?" Tanya continued, clearing her throat and dropping her eyes back down.

Ugar debated before answering, but decided on the truth. "There was a bit of speculation in the ranks over it."

She froze, fork halfway to her mouth, staring at him with wide and worried eyes.

"No one took it seriously. You were so young then, it was more of a joke than anything. It's just...the way you were acting a few minutes ago when I mentioned your birthday, it made me think it might be true."

Other gossip wasn't even worth mentioning, like that one time a visiting captain from the Northern Army Command, deep in his cups, had told everyone within earshot that such an unmanageable woman was better suited to having a wife than being someone's wife. After Ugar threatened to report the man for spreading untruths about a superior officer, that had been the end of that.

xXx

Tanya's shoulders relaxed again after being suddenly tensed for the third time in the space of a few minutes. _That _type of rumor was one that could quickly put a dent in a good career.

She'd be the first to admit it was a mistake to have reacted so colorfully when Ugar mentioned her having a girlfriend. Fumbling around for an answer was a guaranteed way of making someone suspicious that they'd hit on an accidental truth. In the process of disguising the other accidental truth he'd landed on - that Tanya had no intention of letting anyone disturb a pleasant holiday to herself - she'd given away more than she'd intended.

There was no need to be hurtful by telling Ugar she didn't want his family's company when a white lie could keep everything running smoothly. Especially not if she expected him to offer her a job. An after-work happy hour with coworkers funded by a boss who likely had a few Marks to throw around was a perfect cover. The most she could say for herself was that she hadn't messed that part of it up. Her friendship with Ugar and any resulting career opportunities had survived the experience intact.

On a positive note, he was more accepting than expected of alternative lifestyles. Maybe more than she was herself of committing to being labeled and fumbling through a whole new set of rules and rituals where relationships were concerned. Frankly, Ugar had always come across as the type of person who thought hand-holding before marriage was a step too far. His main concern appeared to be more along the lines of Tanya tarnishing her public reputation than any private qualms.

That, of course, was a problem unto itself. If Ugar felt it necessary to warn her in spite of a personally lenient attitude, it could only mean she faced a real risk. He knew the ins and outs of polite society better than she ever would. On top of that, he'd specifically hinted at it being a problem in her current workplace. It wasn't a stretch to think that a historically conservative institution would be particularly unforgiving.

She'd brushed his concerns off as best she could. She didn't need him thinking romance occupied any place other than the lowest spot on her list of priorities. Calling it an honorable mention would be an abuse of the term. She wouldn't rule out that it might happen one day, but she wasn't some frivolous young girl who was going to care about achieving milestones like first kisses. Ten or more years down the road, once she'd gotten her life running on a smooth, obstacle-free path, afterthoughts like that might get some notice. Or not. Her track record in her previous life when it came to serious relationships wasn't what anyone would call stellar. It had never bothered her.

It was only good risk management to make herself aware of what she might have done to make Ugar so quick to draw conclusions. To her memory, she hadn't done anything to court that type of speculation. If it was nothing more than a passing joke, as Ugar claimed, there was no point in getting worked up over it. He was too upstanding to participate in sensationalist gossip, so she could trust him to keep the secret now that she'd inadvertently confirmed its truth. That meant she could enjoy the rest of her day without her stomach churning.

She received a short tour of the city that afternoon, and then it was back to Ugar's house for dinner. Predictably, he launched into a rhapsody over his wife and daughter once it was only she and her friend remaining at the table. It was a habit of his if you let him talk long enough without a clear direction for the conversation.

"We met through church, actually," Ugar said, smiling warmly at the memory. "Fifteen years ago as of this spring."

It might have been the least surprising fact Tanya had learned in either of her lifetimes. She nodded along disinterestedly. Once there was a natural break in the conversation, she'd make an excuse to sneak off to bed.

"It's a good way of getting to know people," he continued, glancing at her out of the side of his eyes.

There was a bit of friendly advice, and there was belaboring a point. If she needed suggestions on how to locate fine, upstanding gentlemen, she'd ask. It wasn't the worst idea for making some connections, but even then, she was out of luck. Her mother had gone and dropped her off at a Catholic orphanage when most of the city's important figures were Protestant. Some people simply weren't cut out to be parents. Trying to explain her reasons for switching around her views on a faith that she didn't have to begin with would be more trouble than it was worth.

"After losing the war, I'm afraid I've had trouble convincing myself to go," she lied blithely. "In the end, our prayers went unanswered."

"There's a reason for everything," he answered. "It gives you an opportunity to do something different with your life."

Now that was how you got her attention. It had taken him long enough to bring the conversation to work. Though if working for him was going to mean constant reminders on a certain subject, it was an altogether less attractive option than she'd hoped.

"For me, it reminded me how lucky I am to have come home, and to have a family to come home to," he continued. "Originally, I'd committed to being an officer. The end of the war gave me a way to resign and spend more time with them. It's easy to take your life for granted until it's too late."

Tanya hummed in agreement. She hadn't disliked her life as a salaryman. She hadn't thought it was the best, either. Until she'd been gifted a life where stability, safety, and comfort were more along the lines of goals than minimum standards. She wasn't sure what Being X thought he was going to accomplish. Taking everything away had only proven that her previous, and extremely faithless, lifestyle hadn't had anything wrong with it. Winning it back would be the ultimate form of triumph. In this era, being a high-powered salarywoman wasn't quite as easy, but it was far from impossible. A failure to understand people doomed any project from the start. Supernatural entities weren't immune.

"I'll never be able to thank my wife enough for being patient while I did a little growing up," he said, with a small smile in her direction. "But I got there eventually, as most of us do. Just takes boys a bit longer sometimes, I suppose."

Tanya did her best not to roll her eyes. Not only had he drifted back away from any word on available jobs, he was skirting close to a lecture on how she might be going through a phase based on nothing more than maturity differences. If it was as simple as that, she'd have been swooning over that ambassador like everyone else. Or Ugar himself. It was a good thing he had a daughter, or he'd be letting his son get away with bad behavior on the basis of not knowing better.

"Well, I still have hope that I can grow upwards a little more," Tanya joked, seeing her chance to leave the conversation naturally, "so I should get to bed."

"See you in the morning," Ugar said. "Eight-thirty?"

An early bedtime meant that she was awake well before the necessary hour. There was nothing like sleeping in once in a while, but the day of an informal job interview wasn't the right time. She might not believe in sins as such, but she would wholeheartedly agree that slothfulness was better left to distant mammalian cousins than practiced by human beings who had responsibilities to take care of.

Alone at the breakfast table and with two hours to kill, Tanya cracked open the paper and got to reading.

"Oh, Tanya, you're already awake," she heard, sleepily yawned by the head of household about twenty minutes later.

Curiously, he looked disappointed to find her already up and dressed. It was entirely possible he was looking for an excuse to go back to bed instead of heading off to work. She'd denied him that indulgence by being ready too early. Catching him unawares in his pajamas may have been another mistake.

She was living at a time where you practically had to greet your mailman in no less than a suit and tie, so it went without saying that letting a young female friend see you less than fully attired counted as a slight faux pas. Even more so because it hadn't occurred to her that she was obligated to look away after she glanced in his direction and noticed that he wasn't wearing a robe.

Tanya felt the heat creeping up her chest and neck, working its way to her face. Her body had a penchant for making such displays with alarming frequency, even over something as simple as recognizing she'd made a small violation of social norms.

Hastily, she pulled her gaze back to the paper so she didn't continue to cause more discomfort for her friend. He muttered out an apology and returned to his bedroom, leaving her to curse herself for starting their morning off on the wrong foot.

xXx

Ugar shuddered minutely as he pulled on his dress shirt with as much haste as he could manage, like Tanya's eyes were still on him even though he knew there were several walls between them. He tried not to lay any blame on her, but the way she'd gazed at him so openly before turning her head away and blushing a deep red had shaken him to the core. Just yesterday, he'd been the one to wonder if her cheerful attitude towards him had any deeper meaning. Adding that to her reaction a few seconds ago, it painted an unpleasant picture.

Besides that, a growing girl shouldn't have been awake at such an early hour. If he'd known she was up, he would never have entered his kitchen still in his bedclothes.

_Maybe I __shouldn't__ offer her a job up here, _he thought, looking at where his darling wife lay snoring ever so slightly. He wouldn't want to do anything that would cause her grief.

_No, Tanya will understand if I remind her how serious I am about my marriage vows, _Ugar told himself, making a sloppy knot out of his tie but not caring, mind stuck on his resolve to have a necessary but unpleasant conversation with her in the car.

As soon as they met in the kitchen again, she rose to follow him outside. To his consternation, once they were in the doorway she stopped right in front of him and then motioned towards his tie.

"It's a bit off, you need to…"

She trailed off, and began to move her hands, like she was going to do it for him.

He took a step backwards. "I'll find a mirror," he said tightly.

xXx

Tanya sighed. It was too much to expect that Ugar would trust a girl to know how to fix a tie. Mimicking the motion he needed to make hadn't done any good.

After waiting for him to undo and retie the knot, she followed him to the carriage house he'd converted into a garage, climbed into his almost brand-new car and then drove off to start the day.

"Tanya."

"Mm?" she replied, a few minutes into the drive, to her friend's unusually stern tone, mouth full of a bite of toast but wanting to indicate she was listening. His eyes were firmly affixed on the road like any good driver's, so she couldn't make much out of his expression to understand the reason for the tense atmosphere.

"About this morning..."

"Sorry," she replied promptly, in case he was going to launch into a lecture about how she should have covered her eyes in horror over seeing him in an undershirt.

His hands flexed on the steering wheel.

"Really, it didn't bother me," she added, eager to assuage the guilt he must still be feeling.

When she looked over again, Ugar's ears were turning red, which could only mean she'd struck home.

"Well, as a married man, and a father of a young daughter besides, I would never do anything to make them ashamed of me."

"I know," she told him. "And no hard feelings about it."

Ugar's grip on the steering wheel relaxed at her second reassurance, and he let out the breath he'd been holding.

Like a good many things this trip, it should have occurred to her before it did. Ugar must have been mortified thinking about how he'd feel if a friend of his had behaved like that in front of his precious daughter, walking around the house half-dressed.

You'd think he'd realize she'd seen more than she wanted to during the war. Putting modesty aside, she'd caught eyefuls of body parts that were never meant to see the light of day. Then again, with Ugar's good fortune, he'd barely seen any of the front.

Within a few minutes, Tanya had arrived in front of a well-maintained old building in central Bremmen. She waited, shivering slightly in the still-cool morning air, as her friend unlocked the door.

"How's business been with the economy?" she asked, once they were inside and had turned the lights on. There was no point in jumping ship, so to speak, to a company that wasn't a going concern.

"I count my blessings every day," he replied. "With the Lowlands moving towards independence in a few years, we're already starting to see certain shipments transferring to the ports that'll remain. It's helped make up for some of the loss in commercial activity. It's stopped getting worse, but it's a far cry from what it used to be. Although sometimes it does feel like I came home from one war only to fight another."

"What's that?"

"With Amburg," he winked. "Competing for the business coming our way."

"They're the bigger port, no?"

"They are," Ugar nodded. "And we aren't terribly far apart either. Regardless, we get more business with the States, and they do more with the Federation. I'd say that puts us in the better place over the next decade or so."

_And in the event of a depression, more vulnerable, _Tanya nodded to herself. Without needing to bother themselves with questions of what people wanted to buy or arriving at a fair value, a communist government was free to pretend demand was whatever they said it was. The shortages of critical goods and warehouses full of unnecessary junk could always be blamed on something else. If the existence of a problem made it past the censorship, that was.

"I guess I'm still the youngest one in the room," she said an hour later, observing as the employees filed in. "I was hoping I might finally have a junior for a day."

"At your age, you should still be in school."

"That's not an option for everyone," she countered. "I'm not the worst off. Some people are helping support families."

"Parents expect their older children to help with the work because people hire them," Ugar shrugged. "I'd rather be on the side that's changing that."

There wasn't much argument to make on that point, unless she was willing to advocate in favor of child labor. A strong economy depended on the skills of its workers. A robust education system was the foundation underpinning future development. It was only good business to make sure everyone acquired basic knowledge. Something like statistical analysis was as important to a farmer as it was to the owner of a factory.

By the time she was getting hungry for lunch, Ugar suggested they take a drive up to Bremmerhaven to see the actual port. Before that, they stopped at a little restaurant in the countryside known for a local variety of wurst. If it was really the first place Ugar had taken his wife after they married, as he claimed, he should be counting his blessings for more reasons than one. In a sane world, it would qualify as grounds for a divorce. _That's what love does to you, I guess, _she thought, forcing another bite down her throat until she'd finished enough to claim she was full.

"Do you mind if I try?" Tanya asked, gesturing at the driver's seat of the car when they returned to it.

"I'm not sure if that's legal."

"For emergencies," she said. "Something happened recently that reminded me I couldn't get a car started if I needed to."

As far as she could tell, the mechanics of driving a car weren't much different now than they were when she'd learned originally. The same could not be said of the process to start the vehicle. There were several notable components that didn't exist in modern cars, offset by a notable lack of safety components. Sometimes, she felt lucky not to be dead already after flying through a windshield. The humble seatbelt had yet to gain a wide following.

Ugar looked around, like a police officer might be waiting to jump out of a bush as soon as he handed her the keys. "Alright," he said after second.

"Turn the gas on first," he instructed, pointing at the valve. "Then turn the key."

That was easy enough.

"Pull the choke out," he said next, moving a little to the side so she could reach it. "The lever on your side of the wheel is the spark, on mine is the throttle. You want both of them most of the way up to start."

"Up to start," she repeated to herself, following his direction.

"The starter's on the floor near the gas," he said, pointing again. "Then push in the pedal to get the engine turning. Shouldn't be too rough since it's warm."

"First gear is down?" she asked after it was started, trying to remember what she'd seen him do earlier.

"Low gear," he corrected. "Down and to the left. The way the clutch-,"

"Serebryakov explained that to me once," she lied, putting the car in gear and giving it a go.

Predictably, her first attempt was met with failure in the form of a stalled car. So was her second. And third. On the fourth try, she finally got the motion right, and Ugar walked her through adjusting the various levers into driving position.

"Sorry," she winced a few minutes later. She'd shifted up a gear, which had dealt a rough shock to both the car and its passengers.

Once the car was up to a reasonable speed, she could only describe driving with one word: fun. Driving without an endless line of traffic surrounding her was its own type of adventure. She'd driven only on rare occasions in Japan. It was one of the few things she hadn't expected to miss.

"Could I drive back too?" she asked Ugar after getting the car going again after a brief stop. She'd only stalled once on her second try. He nodded. It was doubtful she'd get another chance in the near future to drive again. Unless she came down with a sudden and uncontrollable desire to waste money, there was no chance of purchasing her own vehicle for the foreseeable future. The Empire's rail network was both extensive and convenient.

"It was your thesis that had standardized containers as part of a logistics network, wasn't it?" Ugar asked curiously, once they were walking along the vast complexes of warehouses and shipyards in Bremmerhaven. "It takes time for everything to transition over, but I think it will be just as successful in a commercial setting. Some of us soldiers that returned back to the industry are giving it a try."

"Yes," Tanya said tightly. If her thesis had resulted in the intended posting to the Rail Department, she could have overlooked the theft of intellectual property. Respecting the rights of innovators to profit from their ideas was a cornerstone of a functioning market. Needless to say, it left her fuming to see such a fundamental principle violated so wantonly, and at her own expense no less.

"You know you're welcome to stay here," Ugar mentioned, as they made their way down a long pier at a leisurely stroll. "As a part of the family, not just as a guest."

It wasn't like Ugar had brought her out to see his company for no other reason than to show off, so she'd been wondering when he'd get around to some type of offer. No matter how secure her job was, there was no downside to having a backup plan. She'd had all her eggs in one basket with her last career, and look how that had turned out. Irritatingly, what was being offered sounded less like a job and more like parents and a sister.

"Thank you," she said, acknowledging his generous offer with a dip of her head. "Though I wouldn't want to impose. So long as I'm working, it's less trouble for everyone if I rent an apartment."

"The house has plenty of space. And I'm sure Lise would enjoy having someone closer to her age around."

Tanya bit back a sigh of exasperation. She could feign fascination with children's talk as well as the next person, but it wasn't how she wanted to spend her day-to-day life. If Ugar could let her know why he thought she might want to occupy her time playing with dolls, she'd appreciate it so she could stop doing whatever it was that caused the impression.

"I've gotten used to being on my own in the past few months," she said. She had to hope a more direct rejection wouldn't offend him. "For a couple reasons, you might find me difficult to live with. I wouldn't want something like that to ruin a friendship."

Ugar's eyes widened perceptibly and he gave a knowing nod.

"When it comes to work, I'd be happy to have you, of course. That is, so long as you're willing to consider it. I know it would mean giving up something important to you. A few things up, actually. But there's plenty of handsome boys up here," he said with a wink. "That I can promise."

If she weren't in public, she'd bury her head in her hands. Couldn't they drop this subject? His intentions might be helpful, but that was the problem. Her friend had a good heart, so he'd earnestly throw himself into finding a way for her to "settle down". Obviously, he hadn't grasped that this simply wasn't an important part of her life. Extrapolating from his own experience was all well and good, but that shouldn't extend to Ugar not taking her at her word.

Despite her annoyance, Tanya gave him a small smile in response. She knew his heart was in the right place. "I'm sure there are, but I don't need to meet every single one of them," she joked, as a gentle rebuke. "But I'll keep the offer in mind."

"No pressure," Ugar sighed. "It'll always be open."

With a quiet word of thanks, she pointedly switched the subject back to the specifics of the newest ship Ugar's company was designing. A subject from which they did not stray for the remainder of her time in Bremmerhaven.

_I should stop taking things for granted,_ Tanya resolved to herself later that night, kicking at the covers for what felt like the fiftieth time in an effort to fall back asleep. She turned her pillow over again, rolled to her other side and then dragged herself to the opposite edge of the bed, which hadn't yet been warmed by her body heat. It was no wonder she'd had a strange dream after her strange series of conversations with Ugar.

Truthfully, never taking anything for granted again was probably a little too ambitious. Humans were designed to adapt to their environment, after all, so it was only natural to consider something a given if it was always there. It wasn't her fault that she never foresaw living a hundred years in the past. None of her original plans had included moving outside of a major city, and few out of a modern apartment. At most she'd been looking forward to having a house - newly built and full of the latest technology. That wasn't exactly the type of life where you expected to be giving up air conditioning.

There were plenty of other things to complain about - no computers, no cellphones, no Internet, no GPS. A home refrigerator was considered extravagant. No microwaves. The Dacian Army was defeated more quickly and easily than a single load of laundry. The list was practically endless, but it hadn't bothered her so much as she'd expected for the most part, at least after a while.

When it came to basic comfort, adapting was a whole other story. Kids basically fell asleep without a problem, and after she joined the Army she didn't have the luxury of being picky over the temperature. She was happy if she got a real bed. Of course, she wouldn't go back to those days simply to avoid trouble falling asleep on a hot summer's night. She'd take a little tossing and turning over being woken up to the sound of gunfire any day. She shouldn't forget that the tranquility of her life in the past two years was also something she should be thankful for.

With a huff, Tanya rolled onto her back and splayed her limbs out, a futile attempt to dispel the heat that she'd tried multiple times over the course of the past hour to no avail. Stretching out on a bed larger than the one in her own apartment, another thought occurred to her. _Maybe I shouldn't take Ugar's offer for granted either._

You didn't come by chances to live rent-free every day. As far as an easy life went, it was hard to beat. On the other hand, as long as it was a standing offer, the risk of upending her routine for the unknown and giving up on the privacy of her personal life was too much for the expected reward at the present moment. Dressed up like a doll and sent to church every Sunday, babysitting in her free time, and constant questions about a subject that put unwanted thoughts in her head. _How about no_, was all she could say to that.

Closing her eyes again and berating herself for ruminating pointlessly when she should be catching up on years of missed sleep instead, one last consideration drifted through her mind: she had a few friends in Berun. Leaving them behind would make her even more dependent on the goodwill of a single person that she was right now. Plus, when Visha returned, she'd be coming to the city. Tanya could live with only drinking her homemade coffee if she needed to, but why do that to herself for no reason?

_No, I definitely could never live with the Ugar family, _Tanya thought to herself the next morning, after hearing an update to her schedule of events. Ugar wouldn't hear of her spending another minute in the office. His wife was going to take her out shopping to rectify the sad state of affairs when it came to Tanya's clothing. It would be her birthday gift from them. He _insisted._

The concept of dresses wasn't one she hated in the abstract. There was nothing innately wrong with them. When it came down to it, a yukata wasn't terribly different. Her problem had nothing to do with feeling physically uncomfortable wearing a garment that lacked an inseam, and everything to do with the social implications. The humiliation of being objectified wasn't something she was likely to forget. She didn't miss much about her days in the Army, but she wished she could still wear a uniform. If she wore the same outfit as everyone else, it made it easier to assess her on the qualities that mattered.

That being said, being the center of attention was something Tanya avoided when possible. For certain occasions, she'd need a few pieces of formalwear to keep herself from standing out. So long as she rejected anything flashy, adding to her collection - if you could call a single dress that no longer fit her a collection - would only yield positive outcomes. She'd finally cleared 150 centimeters at the beginning of the spring, so the days of being constantly treated like a child because of her stature were completely in the past. She probably wouldn't grow much taller, and unless she let herself go, she had no plans on growing substantially wider. With a few alterations, any clothes purchased now would serve her well into the future. It would save her the hassle of requesting help buying something appropriate at a later date.

"You're young!" Ugar's wife protested, a half-hour later, objecting to the first thing Tanya had picked out. "There's no need to dress like you're my age!"

"It feels more natural for me," she explained.

With a sigh, the other woman reluctantly handed the dress off to an assistant. Gender-appropriate clothing Tanya would commit herself to needing. Age-appropriate was where she drew the line. The girl who looked to be working to spend her extra money at the club wasn't anyone's first choice for a middle management position.

"Do you want it boxed up and sent to your apartment?" Ugar asked her a few hours later, once her ordeal was finally over and she was back to his house.

"Probably safer to ship it to work," Tanya said. "I can't guarantee my neighbors won't be interested in a box that size."

"I hope you'll at least use some of it," he joked.

"Well, to start with, I'll-," Tanya caught herself. She'd almost said she was going to use her new bathing suit. That would have given away the plans she'd carefully concealed. "I already know which one I'll wear for my birthday celebration."

Ugar gave a slight wince. "You'll keep what I said in mind?"

"Yes," Tanya sighed, rubbing a thumb up her forehead. Did he think she was going to drag someone home from the bar? There was a limit to how badly someone could misunderstand her intentions.

"It's bad luck to give you your well-wishes early," he said. "But it is nice to see you so well. I hope the trend continues."

"Me too," Tanya replied with a smile.

A few days later, when her birthday rolled around, she could definitively say that she was still on an upward path. It had been twenty years since she'd had her feet in the sand and the taste of salt on her lips.

Sild's main beach was like nothing she'd ever seen before. It stretched on for kilometers, well beyond the limit of her ability to see. The sand was white and pristine, uninterrupted save for the small beach chairs dotting the landscape. The green of the grasses behind her and the blue of the water provided a neat visual contrast. The sky had a line of thin clouds spanning its length, but they did nothing to block the light from reaching below, and held no threat of rain. A strong sun warmed the air, but a slight wind coming off the sea cooled it back to a comfortable temperature.

Part of her military training had included swimming instruction, so she hadn't been particularly afraid to wade out into the waves despite the fact that Tanya herself had never been submerged in anything more than a two-meter deep pool. The sea was bracingly chilly, even in the summer, but it was a temperature which she eventually adjusted to.

After a brief morning swim, she settled herself into her chair for another day spent reading in peaceful contemplation. Prose was an altogether different sort of writing than the news reports she'd been reading the past few years. It had been an adjustment until the English - or, Albish, as it were - flowed naturally.

Acquiring a fourth language with more fluency would be a smart move. Françoise still carried a certain cachet, and likely would for the remainder of her natural life. She was determined to live to see the end of that. So long as she kept herself healthy, she saw no reason she shouldn't have at least seventy more years ahead of her. Mages healed well and were less susceptible to illness than the average person, so she could even hold onto the belief that she'd be in good health for the vast majority of that time instead of creeping into old age pained and infirm the way most people did.

_Ahhh, _she thought, taking a break from reading to watch the waves for a few minutes, _I finally feel civilized again_. Every employee needed a break once in a while to keep their mind healthy and productive.

She snapped her gaze back to her lap when she caught her eyes tracking another swimmer making his way back in from the sea. It was rare to see another young person out so early. Apparently, she hadn't gotten used to the sight over the past two days, so it was still noteworthy enough to draw her attention. Women's bathing suits looked about how she'd expected, which made it all the more shocking to see that men were free to roam around in what appeared to be Speedos. Out of all the inventions to arrive early, it had to be that. Europaens were just as strange as ever.

_Ahh, well, on to more productive thoughts_, Tanya told herself. Namely, the future of her occupation. The rule of the market was for workers to do what they were best at. For Tanya, that meant one of two things: being an aerial mage or working in an administrative role.

As of today, she could count on having three more years in her current job. There would be no reason for her boss to keep her around the General Staff Office as an irregular employee once she could become an official one again. In the short-term, the officer career track was a promising one. The Imperial Army wasn't allowed any aerial mages, so desk work was as good as guaranteed. No matter how severe an economic crisis, a government wasn't going to stop paying its soldiers. Patriotic feelings were no substitute for an income when you had weapons at your disposal. As an added bonus, she could continue her work to influence the Army in the correct direction.

It was in the long-term that being a soldier began to look problematic. She'd be a fool to think aerial mages would remain outlawed forever. The moment she was given an orb back, her relative value as an office worker plunged dramatically. She might find herself doing more fieldwork than paperwork all of a sudden. There didn't need to be another world war for there to be conflicts of a smaller size. And in the long run, she could make more money if she wasn't constrained by a government pay scale.

When it came to being a mage, she could expect to earn a decent salary once she was old enough to use a civilian-grade orb, but not much else. By necessity, the usefulness of a mage was tied to performing specific tasks, not to knowledge work. Coming home every day physically exhausted was a part of her life she hoped would stay in the past.

In theory, Tanya had no problem working her way up the ladder of private industry. It was more or less what she'd done at her job in HR. A slow method like that practically demanded a stable political and economic system. Without it, you risked getting stuck on the wrong side of the desk when layoffs started. Whether it was companies or individuals, it was common knowledge that a crisis hit those that could least afford it the worst. Logically, then, it was better to be in the ranks of those that could most afford it.

A larger company had more chance of surviving than a small one. Headquarters always looked to their own office last when it came to layoffs. The managerial class protected their own at the expense of the employees lower down the hierarchy. Those were the rules. Whether they were unfair or not didn't matter. All that mattered was being on the side that was unfairly advantaged.

To that end, she'd started her original job search aiming for the top. There was no point in settling for being underpaid when you had the flexibility not to be. With the ongoing social upheaval, she hadn't expected immediate results, but what she'd found had been discouraging.

One business owner had been polite enough to tell her the truth - he believed a good job like she was looking for belonged to men with families to support. A few others had wrung their hands and given the classic excuse. "I'm not sure this is the right fit for you," was hiring-manager code for saying you didn't conform to unspoken or illegal standards like gender or age.

The second type she'd encountered had been the doubters. Twice she'd been told outright that there was no way the stories about her were believable. The remainder had been more tactful in suggesting she was lying. A respectful bow, a thank you for her service, and a bemused mention along the lines of "I'm not sure the job matches your qualifications" or "I'm afraid I won't be able to pay you accordingly," coupled with a healthy dose of shock that she was even asking. But if she was willing, they would see what they could do for her. In other words, her qualifications for officework were made up or inflated, they couldn't believe she thought so highly of herself, but out of consideration for some battlefield bravery, they'd find busy work for her to do and pay her enough not to starve. Frankly, she couldn't blame them. Imperial propaganda had left much to be desired. After being defeated, it was more logical to conclude it had all been puffed up nonsense than anything else.

As expected, there were people that believed every rumor. Including the worst ones. The "I don't want to be associated with someone who commits atrocities" types. If possible, she didn't want to work for socialists and communists parroting lines from foreign newspapers anyway. Potentially more concerning were the "I do want to be associated with someone who commits atrocities" types. For various reasons, it could become troublesome if her career was dependent on someone like that.

When it came to the latter two categories, she doubted there was much she could do to change their minds. When it came to the former sorts, she could expect to see some improved opinions three years down the road. Women supporting families were becoming a more common fixture in the workplace, so that bias would continue to erode with time, as would the one against her young age.

If the majority of people never believed her service record, that wouldn't pose an issue once she had a few years of more traditional officework on her résumé and a boss willing to vouch for it. Lehrgen might want her to re-enlist, but he was the honest type who would give her a fair assessment nonetheless. Coupled with some choice networking designed to highlight her knowledge and skills independent of any academic credentials and she should be in a position to weather something like an economic depression without losing stride.

With a happy smile, Tanya dug her toes further into the sand. Excessive optimism she'd leave for idiots, but there was no defeating someone who knew how to look for opportunity. Being X could-

"Sorry to interrupt," came a voice from the left side of her chair. She turned in time to see someone ducking lower to look at her under the canopy.

_Put some clothes on before you come talk to people, _Tanya groused mentally. _It's rude to make people look when they don't want to._ It was the same person she'd seen getting out of the water earlier.

"I was wondering if you knew anywhere good for lunch. Somewhere people like you and me might like to go?"

Ah, well. It made a bit of sense if he'd found someone close to his age to ask for a recommendation instead of a retiree. Regretfully, she'd have to disappoint.

"Sorry," she said, with a shake of her head. "It's my first time here."

"Oh. Me too. I was hoping to find something before my friends show up for the day. All they want to do is find a cheap beer hall and talk about our time in the war. It's a little pathetic since we only caught the last two months," he said. "Even so, there's some good stories."

"I wouldn't want to hang around people who only knew how to talk about that," Tanya agreed with an emphatic shake of her head. "Especially not if you spent longer in training than anything else."

"Ah, well…" he drifted off, looking unexpectedly disappointed. She'd meant to commiserate, but she supposed she had indirectly insulted his choice in friends. He recovered momentarily, slapping a fist into a palm. "I just remembered. There was an Ildoan-style restaurant I heard is good."

She'd have to ask at her hotel where to find this place. The seafood-heavy menus of the North Sea weren't bad, but they got repetitive. She wouldn't mind some variety.

"Have a good lunch, then," Tanya replied, waving him off, thankful to be done with having to make sure her eyes didn't wander towards anything they didn't want to see. "Do you mind giving me the name of it?"

"I'm sure I can remember where it is, but the name's escaping me," he laughed. "But I could show you if you're interested."

"Alright," Tanya said with a shrug, pulling a loose dress from her bag to cover with. She didn't have anything else to accomplish, and this way she'd know where to go for dinner.

"What was your name?" he asked, once he'd run back to his chair to get dressed as well.

"Gretchen," Tanya lied. If she mentioned who she was, then the conversation really would become about nothing besides war stories.

"I'm Walther," he introduced himself, leading her down a street while making some friendly conversation. A few minutes later, as promised, they arrived in front of a small shop from which the unmistakable scent of pizza was drifting out. Her stomach growled audibly as soon as she took her first breath of doughy air. _How long has it been? _she wondered idly.

"I think I might eat lunch here after all," Tanya murmured to herself.

"We could split one to save money," her companion suggested.

Frugality was a virtue, but in this case, Tanya wasn't interested. Today was a day for treating herself.

"I have a big appetite," she explained. Whether she used it or not, her mana eventually dissipated and had to be regenerated. Mages burned more calories resting than average people. "I'll get one myself."

"I feel like I at least owe you a beer," Walther offered. "The colors on your towel reminded me of their flag. If not for that, I wouldn't have remembered I wanted to eat here."

"If you want to," Tanya nodded with satisfaction. Normally, she wouldn't buy herself a beer over lunch. If someone else wanted to because they thought they owed her a favor, that was a different story.

"Great," he smiled. "You know, I wish I wasn't leaving tomorrow."

She could sympathize with the feeling. That aside, she was a working adult. Vacation would lose its allure if she spent all her time relaxing.

"Me too," Tanya sighed, pointing at the beer she wanted. "But if we're lucky, we'll do this again next year. It's better to have something to look forward to."

"Yeah!" Walther agreed.

Tanya smiled. Everyone needed the occasional reminder that all play and no work would be more dull than the other way around.

"Well, I think I'm going to run to the bathroom and then head back to the beach," she said, a half-hour later, once she was finished with food and drink. "Have fun with your friends."

"Ahh, right," he replied.

When she came back to pay, she noticed something scrawled on a scrap of paper.

"Your friend covered it," the bartender told her with a smile. "Did he leave that?"

Tanya looked down. It was an address and number for a local hotel. Walther was going with a classic - leaving his number for the bartender. Tanya looked back up at the woman on the other side of the counter. Jet black hair, healthily tanned, intense gaze, big smile, bigger hips. She could have been on an advertisement for a Mediterranean holiday. A man could do worse.

"Have fun with him," Tanya said with a smile, pushing the napkin to the other woman.

_Ahh, _she thought, walking out of the place. _The springtime of youth._


	20. The Second Coming

.

****August 12, 1930  
General Staff Office, Imperial Capital Berun****

There were always silver linings. To the end of the war as much as to anything else.

Where before, every law, every custom, every convention that underpinned the accepted order had to be challenged and revised by ones and twos, never threes or fours, the mores and sensibilities of the past most at odds with progress had been shed all at once, like an old skin, to leave more room for everyone to make of life what they would.

Rapid technological advances abounded. New frontiers had opened in fields ranging from automation to zeppelin design. For all its misfortunes, the Empire remained on the forefront of scientific innovation, its universities and institutions still turning out new designs and developments aplenty.

The last holdout of Europa's powers clinging to true monarchy now had arguably the most democratic structure of all. So democratic it could be difficult to accomplish much, but a pendulum pulled too far in one direction naturally swung too far in the opposite at the first chance. In time, it would settle into a rhythm, so long as the system was kept stable. That, at least, was what Erich von Lehrgen would like to believe each time he left work past seven to go home and do more work with different scenery surrounding him. Much of the burden of managing external threats to stability fell to the Army. As far as internal ones went, he'd leave it to the politicians he voted for.

He doubted if Tanya had enough desire to be ladylike to classify what he'd noticed a minute before as a silver lining. In the midst of demonstrating to him a particularly strange handshake technique someone had employed on her recently after they'd been side-tracked onto the subject of bad handshakes in the abstract, she'd inadvertently demonstrated a noteworthy physical change in herself - her hands were soft. They were no longer the callused, wind-chapped pair he'd first shaken when he'd given her the orders to climb aboard a prototype rocket. As abnormal as he'd then considered her, an abrupt pang of bizarreness had blitzed through him upon registering that a child's hand was more worn than his own.

Realizing that same handful of auspicious outcomes hadn't been contingent on losing the war. Social upheaval and technological breakthroughs would have followed regardless, and at less cost. Tanya would have had fewer battles to keep her hands optimized for holding weapons. Had they won, they may have had it all on top of what the Army had hoped for: the dream of an Empire not bounded by potentially hostile nations on all sides. An undisputed strength that would put them on more equal footing with the countries that had an ocean on one or more frontiers, who were free to use smaller, more concentrated forces for local defense and send the rest off to secure a better economic position, either abroad in the form of colonies or at home in the form of laborers contributing to valuable industries.

There was one benefit which belonged unequivocally to the sorry aftermath. After a generation spent ignoring it, Europa had been forced to resume the normal diplomatic efforts which had defined the previous hundred years of history by virtue of recognizing the cost of blatant disregard.

The age-old alliance between the Republic and the Tsardom had been torn apart when the latter became the Federation. That had dealt a deadly blow to the balance, the Empire's two greatest threats no longer standing united against it. Instead of stepping in to devise a new method of containment, the Commonwealth had thought it could watch from the sidelines while its competition headed towards mutual suicide. The Unified States had never before taken much interest in what happened across the ocean. Collective neglect had given the Empire space to forego traditional compromises as it consolidated power.

It was strange when he thought about it, that the Empire he remembered from his childhood was simultaneously more belligerent and more tactful than the one he'd known as an officer. They hadn't courted war with any of the major powers once their borders had become more or less fixed. Neither had they taken any pains to appease them. Had the Imperial side won, they'd have had next to no need for peaceful methods to subjugate any challengers. With unrivaled military might as the hammer, war and more war as the solution to the slightest dispute may have become the proverbial nail.

His career in helping to forge that hammer had been a happy marriage of duty and personal preference. The officer corps was the final destination of countless other second sons of privileged birth, whether they liked it or not. Those who didn't languished as eternal first lieutenants angling for a placement in the more prestigious regiments. Some might make captain or major by the time their career finished. Those with more ambition competed along with the rest, in a contest that grew fairer by the decade, for promotions into the heart of the Imperial Army. By now, any explicit bias towards noble names had been wiped from the governing regulations. Implicit bias took more time to erase, but just as surely it was moving into the realm of history.

Long before he'd donned an official uniform, Erich, who was all he'd been back then, hadn't doubted that his predetermined occupation was the one he'd choose regardless. A place to put into practice all the knowledge devoured from books, a place to help transform their country from a newcomer to a first-rate world power, a place that represented a life in less stultified confines than the distant countryside.

He'd been young, then. Not stupid, but young. Too young to readily grasp that a familiar pattern couldn't go on forever. That the small, contained scuffles he read about in the papers and heard discussed over dinner, each another win for the Empire, would soon come to a natural end, that all that would be left was a nation committed to keeping what it had.

At first, it hadn't been a bad substitute. Better, even. Less chance for individual glory, perhaps, but that wasn't what he'd been chasing. New problems, and along with them plans that were at once grander and more delicate than their forebears.

Their fatal mistake hadn't been in the brilliance of their plans nor in their flawless execution. It had been in what they hadn't planned, in what no one save one person had seen coming - that jumping headlong at the chance to do more than rival the other powers and to stand indisputably above them would inevitably curse every victory to push new opponents into the field. What any of them wouldn't give now to have kept what they had.

Force of arms was an integral part of any nation's repertoire for achieving its goals. If Lehrgen didn't believe that anymore, he would have taken his leave of the Army after the war. A war which had proven that using it as the singular, or even primary, means came with more consequences than it had in the past. And only in a corrupted hell of a world would it become an end unto itself.

Still, his part of it - the Army's part of it - couldn't be forgotten. A country unwilling or unable to defend its own borders was only a country by the grace of the countries both able and willing to do so in its stead. Thousands of kilometers of land borders with few natural defenses, and the Empire's two longest were with its two least-friendly neighbors. One day or another, they would be called upon to put up a respectable defense. Or at least threaten to do so.

Desperately, in halting, sometimes secretive steps, they were rebuilding their capacity to do more than roll over and beg for help when faced with their next invasion of significance. He'd never been content applying solely as much effort as was required and no more, yet the tasks before them demanded more than he'd ever imagined giving. He'd signed on for a consistently challenging job to be handed a frequently impossible one.

His moments of wondering whether he'd have chosen differently if he'd known what the future held were becoming fewer and further between as he grew into responsibilities thrust upon him too early and with each step the North Germanian Empire took towards integrating itself back into the world. One of which was a badly-needed resumption of diplomacy efforts.

Lehrgen listened with itinerant interest to the end of Tanya's account of her run-in with an acquaintance - the former Sergeant Schöne, if he'd heard her correctly - and his enthusiastically incorrect handshake. It was hard to tell beneath her stern disposition that her mood was good, cheery if he was being optimistic, the same way it had been ever since she'd returned from vacation. In the past nine months, he'd gleaned enough from her to know that if she'd come to the point of relaying a story about herself, short and topical as it was, she was more content than he'd seen her since the war ended. Happier, perhaps not. Not in the way that made her eyes gleam with devilish malice. But satisfied enough not to do anything rash.

He couldn't think of a better time, one where she would be more receptive to the message of moderation that so often went unheard. She might, for once, have an opinion on international politics that he was willing to hear out, and be willing to consider his in turn. If nothing more, it was a time where doing something other than rolling his eyes and moving along might have a positive effect.

"You'll see the news in the papers by the end of the week, I expect," Lehrgen began, once she'd finished, "but I don't mind telling you in advance. A few of the other powers have agreed to some high-level talks."

"We got them to do that?" Tanya asked, mouth hanging part way open in disbelief.

"Not us," he said, with a shake of his head. "The Americans. They were hoping for an open forum to settle international grievances, apparently. I'm not convinced they've grasped there's a difference between horse-trading over some distant colonial territory and doing it with land that's been in dispute between the same people for centuries. Anyway, they've at least managed to get a discussion going."

"Any word on what, exactly, is being discussed?"

"Nothing specific. No repealing any provisions of the treaty, if that's what you're asking. At least not for now. Just regular, monthly meetings to reduce the chance of more accidental continent-wide wars. Not that anyone's capable of waging another on that scale so soon," he said, giving a shrug. "But it would be a betrayal of duty to assume that will never be the case."

"That's…" Tanya started to say, before she paused and raised a finger. Silently, she mouthed a few words to herself. Her eyes blinked rapidly as they stared blankly ahead up until they began to dart around in desperate search of some unknown answer. When they eventually found his own, they were concealing tears. He would swear to it.

"T-Degurechaff?" he asked, startled by the suddenness of her mood shift.

She cleared her throat. Once. Twice.

"That's - umm - yeah," she said, voice strained. "That's good to know. No more accidental world wars."

Her unfocused response finished with her clasping her hands together in front of her mouth, tight enough that he could see nails digging into skin. One deep breath later, the tension in her palms eased slightly, only to be replaced by a bouncing leg caught in the attention of his peripheral vision. There was no mistaking it for anything other than the onset of panic.

"Would you like to go back to your office until you've come to terms with the possible future?" he asked.

On one level, the blatant honesty of her reaction was refreshing. That notwithstanding, the last time she'd become over-agitated by a superior telling her the war was on an indefinite hold, an intervention by the military police had been required.

"If...if you don't mind giving me a moment, sir," she said, head bent in apology.

He gestured towards the hall. She shot up from her seat, forgetting to close the door behind her when she made her way out.

A polite way to exit was what he would have offered any other soldier needing a minute to regain their composure. Still, a part of him felt wrong not trying to help the scared, confused girl that had temporarily taken the place of the stalwart, self-assured officer. It was her own fault she took what he said so badly, not his. Still, a part of him felt guilty not having anticipated it given what he knew about her predilections.

He organized his papers as a distraction, from that and from the glaring reminder of why she needed eyes kept on her. Underneath the pseudo-contentment he'd seen recently dwelt the same Degurechaff as ever. The one who awaited the day her hands would be reshaped to fit the stock and trigger of a gun. More often than not, the quiet and determined worker put an innocuous façade over the part of her that couldn't bear to imagine a future devoid of enemies on all sides.

He didn't know what she'd said to Ugar. He didn't know if he wanted to know after Ugar's letter to him full of regret that she wasn't ready to turn away from her ardent pursuit and pity that Lehrgen was the one that had to bear the brunt of it. Whatever it was, it meant that she was unwilling to consider other jobs so long as her favorite one was open to her.

He could fire her. Best case scenario, she kept her head down and returned three years later in open rivalry to him. At this point, he had the clout to alter the career of almost anyone he took issue with. Except her, with her military acumen beloved of the two people directly above him in the chain of command, along with the former General von Zettour, who was not to be considered powerless by any means.

His chosen distraction turned out to be fleeting. For the most part, his papers were already in order.

"Get out that bottle of brandy you keep in your bottom drawer," he instructed his adjutant a minute later, after dragging an open chair over to Ernst's desk and dropping into it.

"Umm, sir, I don't know what you're-,"

"I know you have it and I'm not opening one of my bottles of wine. So…" Lehrgen flicked his hand twice in a beckoning motion.

"What's the occasion?" Ernst asked, drawing the bottle out.

Lehrgen glanced around the room of lower-ranking officers to make sure no one was paying particular attention and found heads bent to papers. He took a swig from the bottle.

"Christ," he cursed, trying to keep his voice low, the unpleasant acridity of cheap liquor on his tongue. "Can't you buy something better?"

"Some of us are on a lieutenant's salary and don't have families sending an allowance," Ernst shot back, mimicking Lehrgen's quiet undertone in spite of the friendly sarcasm.

"I did not get an allowance," Lehrgen replied, near to forgetting his circumspect care not to attract attention so he could plunk the bottle down on Ernst's desk in emphasis.

"Right. Just a house."

"What was I going to do?" Lehrgen protested. "Not live in it?"

"Just saying," Ernst said, mouth quirking up into a half-smile while he relaxed back into his chair, bringing up an ankle to cross over a knee. "So, what'd Degurechaff do this time?"

"How'd you-,"

"It's two-thirty. Your meetings never end early and you came out of this one wanting a drink. One can only assume."

"You know," Lehrgen said, taking another swig and then screwing the cap on and pushing the bottle across the table, back towards Ernst, so he wasn't tempted, "I think I made her cry."

"So is this a celebratory drink, or-,"

"No. No. It is not. I am not proud of it," he huffed, throwing his hands out to the sides instead of up where they might catch someone's eye. His own composure felt as though it was on the verge of disappearing for the remainder of the day. "I mean, who would be proud of making some kid cry? Even if she is more than a little messed up?"

"Not really a kid anymore, sir," Ernst laughed. "But sure. What'd you do?"

"Oh, you know. Told her the other powers were making an effort to avoid another conflict growing to catastrophic proportions. What else?"

With a wry smile, Ernst unscrewed the bottle still on his desk and took a swig himself before putting it away.

"As soon as I said it, it was like the world had ended," Lehrgen explained, opening his arms as wide as they went, no longer concerned that his gesticulation would attract unwanted notice to daytime indulgences. "Have you ever seen someone's eyes when you can tell they're imagining their future going up in smoke? What if all I made her do is realize she needs to try harder?"

"There's nothing you could have done about it. She would have read it in the news by the end of the week."

"I was ready for her to start speculating how we can play everyone off against each other to win in the future by knocking them out one by one, or something," Lehrgen sighed, fishing a cigarette out of the crumpled box in his pocket. "She has a sort of invincible spirit when it comes to using whatever she's got to her advantage. Who would believe the prospect of not taking on everyone at once again would be so abhorrent it would reduce her to tears?"

"I can think of a few," Ernst shrugged. "Everyone who saw her skip around with a smile on her face after hearing we were being invaded by a third enemy probably wouldn't have a hard time believing she'd react the opposite of how a normal person would."

"I guess I should've known," Lehrgen said, with a self-mocking chuckle. "Anyway, I'll get back to work. What's my three o'clock?"

"Cancelled a few minutes before you came by."

_Ye-es_, Lehrgen thought, the news a needed bright spot to his day. For having a last name like Sauer, Ernst had an ironic propensity for bringing good cheer.

xXx

_Calm down, _Tanya repeated to herself, pacing in front of her desk and wiping at eyes that stubbornly insisted on trying to ease her anxiety in the least professional way possible. _You're jumping to conclusions before you have all the facts_. _Extremely improbable conclusions._ Intrusive thoughts belonged in the back of the mind for later, not at the forefront where they distracted her from doing the work that was expected of her. When she was at the office, she was an employee before she was anything else.

What she was facing was the very definition of a black swan event. Before she could make a thoughtful comment on those regular, monthly meetings between diplomats her boss had mentioned, she needed to put some thought into a regular, monthly occurrence of her own. Or, more specifically, the lack thereof.

She had herself and herself only to blame for a few things. First and foremost, for the pathetic lack of self-control exerted over her involuntary reaction to imagining a scenario could exist in which she became something more terror-inducing than a soldier stuck in an endless war - a single teen mother.

Secondly, assuming that physiology was exactly the same as what she knew from her old life was on her. Yes, this world had magic, but she still had ten fingers and ten toes, all her senses worked in the usual way, every biological process functioned as she remembered. A human was a human was a human. She may have been somewhat lax in her attention to detail and missed an all-important deviation as a result.

The problem with a mostly-familiar environment was that it had the potential to lull you into a false sense of security. To put it succinctly, the decision not to read the procedures because you switched to the same job at a different company was the first step on the road to receiving a formal write-up. Failing to verify that the terms of entering the parenthood marketplace were the same as she remembered down the minute details was an elementary-level mistake.

Not only did magic exist in this world, Tanya had the ability to use it. There was no saying what minor changes that caused to the normal operating procedure of the human body. She'd never heard of anyone doing magic in their sleep, but she couldn't rule that a dream could have consequences. Mages altered reality with their will. Theoretically, the unconscious should be able to construct an interference formula.

It sounded entirely illogical to think that something like touching the opposite gender barehanded without a counteracting formula could have adverse effects. Then again, if Being X had anything to do with mana, the system being free from logical errors would be as miraculous as a student with a semester of computer science coding a complex program flawlessly. Come to think of it, Visha had once hinted at wanting to explain "how things worked," after Tanya had turned fourteen. The arrogance of assuming she'd known more than her former adjutant. The arrogance.

Putting all that aside, no one could blame her for having a legitimate fear of improbable events. Being X had a bad history of messing with her life specifically, and, if his book was to be trusted, she wouldn't be the first person he'd done this to. War wasn't a singular way of derailing her life's plans. New and unimproved options had opened up a few months ago.

If Being X wanted a new way to play around with her free will now that the Type 95 was gone, this method was a sure winner. You couldn't take someone who didn't care about the difference between brainwashing and convincing and expect them to understand the concept of stooping too low. All of his worshipers celebrated the claim that he'd dropped this responsibility on an unsuspecting teenager in the past. Not that she believed it, but there was no chance he was above plagiarizing a bad idea.

_Anyway, it's possible those idiotic rumors I heard about pools or toilet seats in middle school were true, _she thought, chewing at a thumbnail. They'd sounded spurious to a person as undereducated on such matters as a thirteen-year-old boy. Foolishly, she hadn't gone out of her way to make absolutely sure they were false, as it hadn't seemed applicable at the time.

Tanya took a deep breath, clenched and unclenched her fists a few times, and made herself sit down. She stared at the phone for half a minute, mentally making note of the oil smudge from her hand, the light coating of dust on the right side of the base, any small details she could make out, a handy trick she'd learned to focus her attention outside her head. Once she was sure she wouldn't embarrass herself when she opened her mouth, she took another deep breath and picked up the phone. The person she was going to call had to be the worst first resort for this line of inquiry imaginable.

"St. Mary's Children's Home," she chewed out to the operator.

"Hello?" a familiar voice greeted.

"Erna," Tanya said, exhaling audibly. Having to deal with Sister Martha at this juncture would have been a trial. "Good. I wanted to talk to you."

"You sound like something's wrong."

"Listen, this is a weird question, but…" Tanya let the air rush out of her lungs and pinched the bridge of her nose. _Weird _didn't begin to cover asking a nun for this sort of information. Depending on what Erna had been taught, she might not be familiar with the most basic of clinical terms. As had been the case since she'd been reborn as Tanya, her choices were limited. More than becoming a temporary item of office gossip, if she went to ask one of the typists, she'd earn a reputation she'd never live down. "...do you know where babies come from?"

The other end of the line was silent for a second. Shortly after, the tinkle of laughter trickled through.

"I'm serious."

"Sorry," Erna sniggered. "Sorry, of course I do."

_Great, _Tanya groaned with relief, resting her head in a hand. Her backup option had been Lieutenant Sauer, of all people. If nothing else, for a shot of that brandy she'd seen him stuff in his drawer once. Besides that, he came off as just irresponsible enough to have put some girl into this position and not irresponsible enough to have ignored it. Out of everyone, he might know what to do and how to keep quiet about it.

"Well, you're a nun, so-,"

"I'm a nun, not a hermit," Erna replied, with a final breath of laughter. "I'm nineteen. Of all the things you know, I can't believe this in the one-,"

"I do know. I just want to make sure of the details. Explain it. Don't leave anything out."

Truthfully, the idea of being a father had always held some allure as a theoretical imagination. The world needed more people like her instilling values in the next generation. A family was presented as part and parcel of a rounded-out life.

Anyone with half a brain could tell you that was a myth. Someone claiming that children were a magical key to happiness was probably trying to justify why they'd only gotten three hours of sleep the night before. It was the same people that said falling in love was necessary for a fulfilling life while sobbing about their last breakup. A fulfilling life was what you made it.

In spite of all that, the irrational part of her brain distorted by evolutionary necessity had persisted in holding onto the idea of fatherhood as a desirable goal. More so than having a romantic partner, though it was complicated to have the former without the latter. Fortunately, the rational part of her brain took precedence when it counted. If she could sum up what she'd seen of the practical side of raising children in a few words, they would be expensive, time-consuming, and chaotic. The best part of it all was that the work came with no promise of reward. There were more ways for children not to live up to your expectations than ways for them to succeed. And that was fatherhood.

Motherhood came with the additional joys of first discomfort, then pain, then a permanently altered physiology. Even in modern times, it didn't come without career sacrifices. If you didn't make them, your qualifications for being a mother would be questioned to your face, and worse said behind your back. She wasn't a bad mage, but waving a wand and eliminating all those problems was at best a pipe dream. She was happy to leave it at saying that it wasn't her cup of tea.

Tanya listened as intently as her mind would allow her to Erna's explanation, which so far matched what she already knew, crossing and uncrossing her legs every few seconds.

She hadn't been feeling nauseous unless she counted the last five minutes. She had put on some weight over the course of the past few months. At the time, progressing from scrawny to slender had seemed healthy. True, when she'd looked in the mirror the other day she'd noticed her stomach sloped slightly outwards as it reached her navel. She'd written that off as normal for anyone not constantly pushing the limits of physical exertion.

_No, don't you hear stories about people who didn't know until it was way too late? _she asked herself. In that case, she couldn't take any lack of obvious signs as negative proof. And speaking of obvious signs, the single most obvious one was very much present.

Aside from reasons of general health, she hadn't wanted to grow into a woman or whatever. Having the capacity for reproduction was somewhere on the scale between annoying and completely useless. But putting it bluntly, now that her body had indicated it was going to bleed every month, wasn't the one thing worse than it doing that...it not doing that?

Her diet was normal. In fact, it was probably better than the average thanks to a steady income and knowledge gleaned from the future about what counted as a nutritious meal. She exercised regularly, but not excessively. Besides right now, her stress levels had been normal to low.

_Even so, outside of extremes, could any of that cause..._she paused to count silently to herself and make sure she had it right..._almost four months with nothing? For a healthy person, is there any other explanation? _She'd never heard of one. Women wouldn't get so worried about missing or late periods if they were normal. If it would go ahead and come back, she wouldn't let a complaint pass her lips ever again. Hurray for womanhood.

It was embarrassing it had taken her so long to notice a key indicator of her well-being was off. Luckily for her, Erna wouldn't be crossing paths with Tanya's coworkers anytime soon. Excellent self-management was a foundational skill for anyone hoping to manage others. Demonstrably failing in such a flagrant manner wasn't going to be inspiring any trust in her abilities.

In her defense, she'd never claimed to be an ancient oracle. The rationally-minded only made predictions after collecting sufficient observations to establish an accurate pattern. Using a calendar to plan out exactly when she needed to be prepared couldn't come until after the data-gathering phase, so naturally, an unpleasant fact had slipped her mind in the absence of anything to prompt a reminder. Her boss had the unfortunate luck to be the trigger and thus the witness to her bout of panic.

Tanya nodded to herself while Erna finished her explanation. All the specifics checked out so far.

"There's no difference for mages?" she verified, buffing at a small stain she'd noticed in the wood of her desk.

"I don't think so," Erna replied. "Except I've heard you all can use a sort of preventative spell. I know mostly because the church doesn't approve."

_Of course they don't_, Tanya muttered to herself. As if she needed any more evidence that religion was the enemy of progress.

She couldn't rule out a prank by Being X yet. Only a doctor could tell her if it was that or an unknown malady plaguing her. All the same, it was a relief to hear she bore no personal responsibility due to lack of oversight.

"Okay. Thanks. That's what I thought. I just needed to make sure," Tanya said, hunting around for another coffee ring she could attempt to clean off. "One more thing. How can the doctor actually tell?"

Erna didn't answer immediately, so she was treated to another couple seconds of silence. The question must have been outside the other girl's range of expertise. Tanya was stumped herself. Without the conveniences of modern medical science it seemed likely to involve an irritating amount of crude guesswork.

"What's your address?" Erna asked. Her tone was firm enough Tanya could mistake her for a lieutenant general. "I'm coming with you. I can be there in two hours-,"

"No, that's-,"

"I get it, so you don't have to pretend. I'm not going to leave you alone whatever you decide. Do you know how far along you are? Do you...you at least know who the father is, right?"

Tanya had to keep from screeching in protest. _What sort of questionable lifestyle are you implying I lead? _she shouted to herself. Erna getting the wrong idea on some level was excusable. Young love, curiosity, a handsome face at the beach. They happened. She had done nothing to deserve the accusation of being so reckless she couldn't keep track of partners and dates. She had a proper job. Not one that required a side income.

"It's not like that," Tanya said sharply, chomping down on the thumbnail she'd been worrying at earlier. "I didn't - umm - I haven't ever...but I haven't bled again, so I don't know what else-,"

"You shouldn't scare people like that," Erna snapped back, taking a few deep breaths. "Was that all?"

"Yes, but doesn't that usually mean-,"

"It's normal. Or, it's at least not that unusual. For the first year or so, it can be a bit random for some girls. After that, yes."

"Even if it's this long?" she asked. She knew better than to take the first explanation offered for no other reason than that she liked how it sounded. She hadn't been expecting an exact thirty-day interval. On account of being off to a slow start on the development front, she would have been willing to consider a variation of two or three weeks as falling within the acceptable range of standard deviation. But this wasn't an unreliable soldier running in late to roll-call. It was a rogue one who'd gone MIA for several consecutive check-ins. "It's almost four months if you don't recall."

"Trust me, I remember it's been another four months that I haven't heard from you except for an emergency," Erna retorted. "It is a bit long, but I wouldn't worry about it. You can go to the doctor if you want, but...well, for me, it got towards three months once, so I wouldn't get worked up as long as you're sure…"

"I am."

"Okay. Then, you should be fine. Make sure you keep some things with you all the time until it's predictable."

"You couldn't have mentioned this earlier?" Tanya asked, fighting off the urge to cry again, this time purely from relief.

"And who was the one that said 'I know how it goes?' when I tried, hmm?"

Forcing someone to eat their words in circumstances as cruel as a pregnancy scare wasn't behavior fitting of a woman of God. Admittedly, that bumped her opinion of Erna up a notch.

_Did they forget to teach us this part in school? _Tanya wondered, idly picking a pen up off her desk and giving it a twirl. The giddy sensation that came along with stress melting away all at once gave her more energy than a dozen cups of coffee could have. _No, maybe they did and I didn't pay close enough attention then forgot it. _It was a minor failure. No one sane would accuse a middle-school boy of fault for skimming over that type of information.

"I knew the basics," Tanya grudgingly confessed.

"I guess I won't hear from you again until there's another emergency," Erna said, the gentle reproval belying the easy laughter of her tone.

"It's not like we can grab a drink at the bar after work," Tanya pointed out.

"Did you miss the water into wine part?"

"I never saw the sisters drinking."

"We don't do it in front of the children," Erna laughed, louder this time. "Overindulgence is frowned upon. Deeply. I can have a beer or a glass of wine every now and then. Although I would feel strange sitting at a bar in my habit."

"Well, you can come by sometime if you're extra bored," she conceded. "Call the Staff Office switchboard and ask for me before you do."

"Extra bored?"

"If I said a little bored, that would mean all the time," Tanya huffed. At a certain age, you had to be held responsible for your choices. She had better things to do than serve as a constant escape from the drudgery Erna had opted into.

"Then I'll come by one day," Erna said, after a noisy sigh of exasperation. "And did you get the birthday present I sent?"

"Yes…" Tanya replied hesitantly, to the implication that Erna herself had sent the package of homemade honey. It had come labeled "From all your friends at St. Mary's". She might not have been ready to debut into high society, but she could differentiate between a personal gift and institutional acknowledgement. Only one required a thank-you card. A written expression of gratitude for the corporate holiday token would end up in the trash of a confused admin.

"I guess mine must be lost in the mail," Erna commented. "They're so slow getting things out here these days."

_Dammit, _Tanya cursed. Erna's birthday was two weeks after hers. For someone who had taken a vow of poverty, she was awfully preoccupied by worldly matters.

In search of a good response, Tanya found herself tracing the lines of the coffered ceiling above her. As might be expected, she didn't find any answers hiding among the ceiling panels. The two cobwebs she found instead were poor substitutes. Yesterday, she'd noticed another sign that there was a cleaner cutting corners out there, like they didn't realize there were a hundred unemployed people waiting to fill the position. The brass on the feet of her lamp was beginning to tarnish.

_...Socks? _drifted through her head at the thought. If memory served, Erna had collected patterned socks with the avidity of a nonconformist magpie. As an added bonus, they weren't expensive.

"It's coming," Tanya grumbled. "And thanks for everything. I didn't know who else I could call."

"Next time, call for something pleasant, okay?"

"Yeah," Tanya promised. With that, she hung up the phone, glad to be finished with the subject. Now she had to turn her attention to the next task - making amends with her boss for an inexplicable breach of professional decorum. She took a second to compose herself and then walked down the hall.

"Come get me when General von Lehrgen's meeting is over," she ordered Lieutenant Sauer.

"It got cancelled," he said. "He's not with anyone now. But…"

Tanya tapped her foot impatiently, waiting for him to continue. Instead, she was treated to a display of theatrical vacillation that she hadn't purchased tickets for.

"But…?" she prompted.

Sauer hummed, eyes glancing around guiltily, then drummed his fingers on his desk a few times.

"I'm not sure I should say anything," he demurred, half in a whisper. All he was missing was a long piece of hair to twirl. Evidently, Tanya wasn't the only reincarnate born into opposite circumstances. She had to wonder what the queen bee of teenaged drama had done to offend Being X so badly. Maybe mentioned that his outfit was so third century.

"Sauer, one of us should be in high school, and it isn't you."

The visible wince he gave was satisfying. "All I was going to say is I'm not sure he wants to see you right now. He'll never say it, but I think he's a bit...disappointed."

"D-Disappointed?" Tanya confirmed, so close to not believing her ears she was unable to prevent herself from stuttering the word out.

When it came to giving out feedback, it was a term she was overly familiar with using, sometimes at the expense of less collegial but more colorful vocabulary. When it came to receiving feedback, in all her years in the workforce, she had never once heard it launched in her direction.

Quickly, she schooled her annoyance behind a mask of professionalism. Lehrgen hadn't reacted well when she'd let a few tears out at the state funeral after the war. High achievers were held to high expectations. It was a compliment. The measure of a manager was whether they recognized and worked against their cognitive bias, not whether they had it at all.

"Say what's on your mind," she said, when she noticed Sauer looking ambivalent about continuing.

"Look, Degurechaff, you're smart, so think on it for a second, okay? At nothing more than the mention that there's a low probability of you ever being involved in another world war again, you're upset. What are people going to think about where your loyalties lie?"

How could she forget? When it came to a culture that valued patriotic sacrifice, admitting to abject cowardice - or, as a rational person might put it, recognizing the value of your own life - was worse than openly advocating mass murder. As long as the ones being murdered were enemies, of course. From Lehrgen's perspective, she'd lost it when he'd very reasonably posited that they couldn't assume there would never be another world war simply because everyone was tired of them at the moment. It was as good as saying she'd let their country be conquered by anyone who wanted to try.

"Not a proper sentiment for an officer," she nodded, in confirmation that she understood what Sauer was getting at.

"Or a citizen generally, really. It's everyone's future that's at stake. Not just yours."

She wouldn't dream of denying such a universally obvious statement. At every time and every place, everyone's future was at stake. The task of caring about that future was up to each individual. She wasn't responsible for anyone else's.

_Still no respect for rational self-interest, is there? _she sighed to herself.

"As a thanks for the heads up, I'll ignore the accusatory tone," she replied, then watched him wince again. "I'm as prepared to do what's necessary for my country as you are."

She marched towards Lehrgen's door, gathering her thoughts along the way. He'd shown some flexibility in the past when it came to matters in the same vein. There was no way to pretend he hadn't caught on. Like any good PR firm doing a cover-up, the strategy was apologize and minimize with a side of deflect and redirect. After that, no need to worry that everyone he knew would soon hear that she was no longer reliable in a pinch.

She stepped into his office after a knock. "All sorted out?" he asked. "Or do I need to take responsibility for ruining your year?"

Tanya gave a cough to conceal the laugh that wanted to escape. If she told him the real reason she'd run out of his office, he wouldn't make a generous offer like that so lightly.

"I wanted to apologize for my behavior," she said when she looked up. "It was momentary shock over being reminded of a personal matter that had slipped my mind. Nothing more. It won't happen again."

"It…" he paused to give a long sigh, then gestured at the chair opposite him. She took her place in front of his desk. "It wasn't a flattering reaction, to be sure. But one I should have seen coming, given how well the last war went for you."

"What soldier doesn't dream of permanent frontline duty?" she asked, repaying his sarcasm in kind. The most war-happy of her subordinates had nevertheless enjoyed time away now and then.

"Anyhow, it doesn't change much of anything at this point," he said, magnanimously waving away her blunder. "Was there something else?"

The first half of the plan had gone smoothly. Her apology had been accepted and the error effectively downplayed. Now came the second half: a convenient distraction to focus attention elsewhere. The last impression you left on someone could be as important as the first. Finishing the day by apologizing for your incompetence? A great move as long as you intended to leave everyone remembering how incompetent you were.

"There was one thing I wanted to bring up after I gave it some thought," she said. "In regards to the general appetite for total war being low."

With the Army not taking any posture besides a defensive one, the country ran more of a risk being too accommodating than too aggressive. She might not want the Empire to start another world war, but until she either repaired her international reputation or acquired enough means to pay people to ignore it so she could emigrate, nothing would be worse for her personally than losing a second one.

For her money, she'd lay her chips on the Republic being the most likely of their neighbors to fall victim to a demagogue promising glory. From purely a military perspective, they'd achieved their objective - preventing the Empire from growing too powerful to be contained. She wouldn't want to be the one selling that line to the general public an occupation, a ruined economy, and no territorial gains later. They'd even flirted with a military dictatorship under de Lugo for a time.

All that aside, this wasn't a warning she'd give to someone whose judgement she didn't trust. In the wrong hands, it could be used as a blueprint for their own country to follow.

"I'm listening," Lehrgen said.

"If everyone's set on keeping out of a major war, comparatively minor conflicts may be avoided in the name of peace," she explained. "It's a system that favors the aggressor up to a point."

The appalled look her boss gave her was proof that she'd put her faith in the right person. Such a duplicitous plan wouldn't cross the mind of someone with old-fashioned military sensibilities involving honor and righteous glory.

"The Army's leadership wouldn't advise our politicians on that being a wise course of action," he replied firmly.

"Speaking in hypotheticals," Tanya said hastily. She might earn some points for optimistic patriotism, but that wasn't worth suggesting an overtly hostile path for her country to go down. This was the time for a reminder that taken too far, it would end in another unwinnable fiasco. "Only pointing out that if desired, the aggressor could maneuver themselves into a superficially favorable position for a large-scale conflict while everyone else is busy trying to avoid it."

"I should like to think we'll be reasonably capable of defending our own borders again someday soon, but even at our best we couldn't conquer all our neighbors. Does that not serve to warn anyone else away from trying?"

"There were plenty of errors made along the way. For one, not having a plan in place to conquer all of our neighbors. Or any of them."

"Still…" Lehrgen sighed, shaking his head. "It could just as easily have gone worse. Had all our enemies committed at once, we wouldn't have done half so well."

Tanya gave a one-shoulder shrug of acknowledgement. As two logical individuals, it was a matter of course that she and her boss would see it the same. She'd learned the hard way not to assume that everyone else could be counted on to have their sanity intact.

"Since we're speaking hypothetically, couldn't an ambitious field commander provide the final push? Even if the political will wasn't ultimately there for sparking that large-scale conflict?" Lehrgen asked, his eyes narrowing at the thought.

There were times when it was impossible not to break into a smile. This happened to be one. Discussing problems with other great minds who could put a new perspective on things was one of the pleasures of being human.

Based on what she knew of history, Tanya was naturally more suspicious of belligerent politicians who wanted to make good on the more reprehensible of their promises. Unless you got stuck with a real fanatic leading the country, more likely than not a politician shrewd enough to make it to the top would prioritize his own life over anyone else's. Cut a deal with your supposed enemies, sell out, then blame the rival parties for undercutting you. The standard formula for success. Except for when a fanatical follower was only a border incident away from triggering that war you never really intended to start in the first place.

"You catch on quickly, sir," Tanya nodded, with a sheepish smile at not having thought of it herself. Just knowing her leadership wouldn't put any loose cannons in charge of tense situations would help her sleep better at night.

He cleared his throat. "Well, thanks for bringing this to my attention. I'll make sure the right people are aware."

"I'm glad I could be helpful," she smiled, taking that as her cue to leave.

_Maybe I have a future as a PR agent, _she thought, mentally patting herself on the back as she stood up. She'd pay to see someone else pull off a reversal as smoothly as she had.

"Degurechaff," Lehrgen waved, motioning for her to sit back down. "While we're on the topic of the future, I'd like to discuss yours for a moment."

She dropped back into her seat.

"With no disrespect meant to your talents as a mage, I think you do better work in the office. I'd like to keep you here if I can. Is that something you'd ever consider?"

Tanya didn't quite think she managed to keep the shock from showing on her face. Eight years. Eight years she'd been waiting for someone to say those words to her. Never mind that it was two years too late to make a difference, it was a start. Someone with real power in the Army had finally gotten it through their skull that she could contribute more off the battlefield than on it. An honest recognition of the freedom of your other party to make another choice, an open statement of intent - now that was how you started a negotiation.

"I would," she said, after a moment's deliberation. There was no sense in turning down the chance to pick back up the career she'd left midway through if its future was going to be different than its past. The problem was, Lehrgen wasn't the only one in charge of making that decision. "But let me ask you something in return. Do you think we'll win the right to form aerial units back?"

She wouldn't want to repeat her earlier faux pas by implying she wouldn't serve as a mage in the event it became necessary. It was better to lead Lehrgen along to the conclusion himself: his superiors might see things differently and stick her in a less ideal position for her talents, depriving both of them of what they wanted.

"In time, I expect we will," he admitted. "You being a part of one isn't written in stone. If we don't end up seeing war on a continent-wide scale again, anyone could see that squandering you away on patrolling is senseless."

"Well, I don't disagree," she said, flashing a quick smile and then cocking her head. "That doesn't account for war that isn't on that scale."

"There's no denying that," he sighed. "Anyway, will you think about it, at least?"

This time when she rose, she held out a hand for him to shake. It was hard to imagine how this conversation could have gone better. She'd eliminated any doubts about her reliability. She'd received an informal offer for a safe, well-paid position. And now that Lehrgen had recognized her capabilities as being better suited for working in the Staff Office, it was a significant step towards him seeing what she could contribute to any other type of office. Maybe there was one person besides herself who properly respected rational self-interest.

"I'll think about it."

xXx

_I'm going to need another drink_, Erich von Lehrgen laughed to himself, leaning back far enough in his chair to tip the front legs off the ground. And not a drink from the glass of water he'd nearly let slip from his grasp a few minutes ago when Tanya had apologized.

Now was the time she chose to do it. Not when she nearly killed a fellow cadet. Not when she made an enemy of Northern Army Command. Not when she was court-martialed the first time. Not when she took new recruits on a night raid as a training exercise. Not when she laid hands on her base commander. Not when she was court-martialed the second time. Not when she ruffled feathers at HQ after riding roughshod over a few people grabbing any available equipment or manpower she could get her hands on. Now. It might be slow, but it was a step in the right direction.

As always, the next move had been two steps in the wrong direction, an endless, Sisyphean cycle from which he had yet to find an exit.

His chair plunked back down, the minute of levity he allowed himself over so that he could finish reading the brief he'd been taking notes on when Tanya interrupted him before he went in search of a third sip of liquor. The previous two hadn't hurt his mental acuity per se, but they hadn't exactly helped.

In a way, they were already taking advantage of the shaky international order coming into existence. Elbowing a path into a position to not only defend but be capable of conquering again wasn't without a certain logic. The same insidious logic that underlay every idea Tanya had. It was what made them so dangerous, so compelling. So well-received by his bosses, current and former.

He crumpled the page of notes he was taking, it being more filled with crossed-out sentences than anything else, and threw it into his wastebin. The brief would be there tomorrow. For today, Tanya had gifted to him a new concern with which to preoccupy himself.

He'd give her credit for warning him to be vigilant in identifying latent threats from once and future enemies. And from Tanya herself, were she to be stationed in the wrong place at the wrong time. Whether he owed her a thank-you for making him privy to her secret schemes was something no etiquette instruction he'd received had ever covered. For that, and that alone, keeping her close and playing her confidante was worth the inevitable headache.

It had stunned her into slack-jawed incredulity when he suggested she might belong anywhere in the Army aside from the mage corps. Nonetheless, she hadn't rejected his offer of a compromise he wasn't sure he had the sole authority to tender to her, a career in the Army, but one officially stationed in the office, trapped by the same bureaucracy he was, where she wouldn't have the chance to take matters into her own hands again and incur the wrath of their neighbors. Somehow or another, that had ended the conversation by walking three steps in the right direction and staying there, the resolute grip of her handshake attesting to her promise being made seriously. A promise to consider keeping the hand he'd been shaking uncallused except for by a pen.

It wasn't a lie when he said that her talents would be wasted on basic patrolling. They had to rely on creativity and agility now that brute force was no longer an option. All the same, if she suggested she preferred a field assignment, he was sure Romel would give it to her over his objections.

At the least, it was progress. She'd agreed to consider officework over being in the field, even after confessing what she might want to do in the field. That was halfway to her realizing that maybe she'd enjoy working in offices besides the General Staff Office.

As soon as he finished putting his papers into the right tray, he was back at Ernst's desk, the chair he'd used earlier still there for him to drop unceremoniously into.

"Let's have another."

"I _told _her not to go in there," Ernst groaned, fishing the bottle out.

"You what?" Lehrgen asked, letting his displeasure leak through his tone. Depending on what Ernst had said to her, he might have to revise his assumption that Tanya would default to working with him instead of around him.

"I didn't say you secretly hate her or something," Ernst said, clicking his tongue at the implication that he couldn't be trusted to know what he'd been told in confidence. "Just that it might not be the best time."

"Good," Lehrgen replied, taking a sip and grimacing. "Hard to secretly hate someone when they agree to an armistice on fair terms."

"Sir?"

"She's tentatively willing to consider a career not involving active combat. Doesn't sound like much, but," he shrugged, "for Tanya, it's a lot."

Ernst didn't say anything, only lifted an eyebrow. Calling it _a lot _must've sounded like uncharacteristic hyperbole without hearing the thinly-veiled statement of intent that preceded it.

"Anyway, can you let Romel know I'd like to meet with him before the end of the day?" Lehrgen asked, rising from his chair to return to his office.

"Of course, sir," Ernst said, already picking up the phone by the time Lehrgen turned away to leave.

Technically, meeting at seven in the evening counted as meeting before the end of the day. Mid-August sunsets weren't until eight-thirty.

"I expect this is for a good reason," Romel said, once Lehrgen was occupying the seat across from him. "I don't like working late as much as you do."

"I don't like working late," Lehrgen corrected automatically. If he got a day off each time he fended off the accusation, there was a fair chance he'd be retired already. "I don't have a choice."

Romel gave a skeptical snort. "You've already made more of yourself than most men ever will. General in the Army. And at your age."

"In an army that _might _be able to repulse a marauding band of bears," Lehrgen commented. "If we really tried."

"I don't think we even have bears in the country anymore," Romel frowned, looking wistfully towards one of his windows.

Lehrgen tilted his head in knowing acknowledgement of that fact, and when Romel's head swiveled back around to look, he gave a bark of laughter at the accidental joke - for the moment, the only enemies their army could hope to defeat were nonexistent.

"We aren't in as bad of shape as we could've been," Romel reasoned. "Plans take time."

"As I said, sir. Plenty of work to go around yet."

With a heartfelt sigh, Romel gave a grudging nod of agreement and sank deeper into his chair, raising his arms to interlock his fingers behind his head.

"Well then, are you here just to tell me I'll never win a battle again?"

"Here on the subject of fighting losing battles, actually. Something came out of my meeting with Degurechaff today. A...concern of hers," Lehrgen said, choosing his words carefully. No matter how impossible a plan sounded, simply giving it her blessing might be enough to convince Romel it had some worth.

Dark clouds over welcome news were as sure as silver linings to dark clouds. Namely, in the case of the current openness to diplomacy, the plague of optimism which infected a select group of people, embittered by the past few years and unwilling to accept Imperial dismemberment as permanent, the ones who believed their mistake had mostly been operating on enemy terms, constantly caught on the wrong foot by foreign antagonism, reactive instead of proactive. Under such a paradigm, Imperial diplomatic efforts meant that any future wars could happen on the Empire's terms, kept quick and contained.

An eventual reunion with the Ostrian Empire would be bloodless so long as there was no outside interference. Firmly disavowing any further interest in territories that didn't want to be Imperial - the Lowlands, Danemark, perhaps Ungarin - might suffice for limiting international involvement to condemnation instead of conquest. Retaking Polaska depended on how committed the Federation was to keeping it and how committed the rest of Europa was to prying it back from the communist party. The right words from the right ambassadors could influence attitudes on both matters to suit the Empire. Brazenly optimistic, but not out of the question.

What was out of the question, he hoped, was a full rematch after the Empire better prepared itself to face a major war again. There were days he wasn't so sure that was too far-fetched an ending to the story of patching their nation back together. The boundary between preparing a defensible position and preparing an invasive one was more of a river with a few deep spots than a fathomless gulf.

He had little alternative beyond complicity. Risk leaving his country ludicrously underdefended and eventually sold for parts when the other nations of Europa exhausted their ability to colonize other parts of the globe, or risk leaving his successors the tools for making reckless delusions of grandeur a reality so that the other nations of Europe decided that selling the country for parts was the only solution left. It was a choice of the Devil's own making. But if it came down to it, he'd rather the country die trying.

"Oh?" Romel asked, interested enough at the mention of Tanya's personal opinion that he leaned back towards his desk and reached for a pen.

"Obviously, we have little in the way of means to win anything serious, so our best hope is to avoid conflict until we can, by whatever means necessary."

Romel gave a curt nod.

"Her point was that if the universal answer, from us and other countries, to small aggressions is little or nothing besides political denouncement, we could quite ironically invite another war that decimates the continent by trying too hard to keep the peace," Lehrgen explained, fighting to neither eye the superior vintage of brandy on the corner of Romel's desk too intently nor take off his glasses to run his hands up his face and into his hair. "By the time another war does break out, it won't be over just whatever line was crossed most recently, but over all the other lines crossed before that."

The look of purest amusement that stole over Romel's face and transformed it back into the youthful impishness it had lost a few years ago contradicted the gravity that Tanya's latest premonition warranted.

"So," Romel said, a cigar to puff on the only thing missing from the quintessential picture of a triumphant general, "you're saying she managed to convince you not to oppose it when in a few years, she asks to be given the opportunity to go back into battle?"

Lehrgen took the admittedly deserved ribbing with good humor. The alternative, that Romel's reaction to Tanya's pronouncement was a sign of approbation rather than apprehension, belonged in the deepest reaches of his nightmares.

"Well…" he began, stopping to frown. If she'd extracted the truth of their relationship from whatever it was Ernst had told her, there was a chance she'd hidden her motive in the way Romel suggested.

Momentarily, he shook his head to himself, forgetting that a superior officer was watching him carry on an internal debate. Her gaze when she'd clasped his hand had been steady. Unwavering. Grateful, if possible, that he'd heard her out in spite of differing perspectives.

"In a way," he replied. It was more that she'd managed to convince him he'd rather send her into a strictly controlled tussle than let it get to the point where she could start another world war, but the distinction wasn't particularly important except for preserving his ego. "There is some logic to it."

"There is," Romel agreed, tipping out a pour of that brandy Lehrgen hadn't been staring at. "There always is. It's something I'll keep in mind. Though we can hope it won't come to that. If I'm going to send our men in, I'd rather do it thinking they'll win."

Silently, Lehrgen raised his glass to toast the sentiment. In the presence of his fourth drink, words would only complicate things.

xXx

Tanya approached the grand set of doors leading into the office of the Commander of the Armed Forces with more trepidation than usual. Without fail, meetings with General von Romel were scheduled two weeks or more in advance. The abrupt summons felt a bit like how she'd imagined the experience of being called down to the principal's office would go. Funny that it should happen for the first time decades after her scholastic days.

Considering the past week, she had her suspicions on what had precipitated the impromptu appointment. Of course, she wasn't going to preemptively admit to a fault in her patriotic character. Playing the ingénue was one deceit exclusive to her current life.

"You wanted to see me, sir?" she asked, with as much innocence as she could muster. "Was there something important?"

"Not particularly," Romel said. "Only to say that you never cease to amaze me."

"Sir?" she asked, startled. Cautiously, she allowed some optimism to build.

"You've managed to get Lehrgen to rethink his position on sending you into the field," Romel chuckled, shaking his head.

How reliable. It had only been three days since he'd done his best to woo her into making a career out of the job she was currently doing. Eager to cross one of her objections off the list, he wasn't wasting any time pressuring the people who counted to come around.

"And what do you think, sir?" she pressed. Ultimately, any career of hers in the Army hinged on Romel's vision for the future. Lehrgen could act the salesman and make all the promises he wanted without having to put his life on the line if he overhyped the product. With all due respect to him, she put more stock in Romel's unfiltered opinion than any assurances by a third party.

"I don't know yet," Romel grunted, giving her a once over with a critical eye. It wasn't the answer she wanted, but that was to be expected. Romel had experience commanding her in the field, which naturally biased his perspective. Leaving open the possibility of changing his opinion was all but saying it was on her to do more to prove her worth behind a desk.

"So, what I'm hearing is you'd rather fight a more limited engagement sooner than a world war later," he continued, moving right along to the other actionable item coming out of her meeting with Lehrgen.

"I wouldn't say I'd _rather_, sir," she clarified. Neither would suit her just fine. "Only that I like the chances of the former better than the latter."

Actually, she didn't think their chances of winning either were particularly good. Her personal fate was simply superior under one. Another plus side to things like limited engagements was they didn't tend to involve universal conscription being bandied around again. Under a thoroughly democratic system, politicians deliberating took too much time to make it a workable solution.

She was put on the receiving end of an assessing gaze for the second time in as many minutes. If Romel expected her demeanor to give any hints as to her selfish intentions, he was out of luck. The world's best body-language experts couldn't find a crack in the mask of a professional salaryman worth the name.

"Well, I'll keep it in mind," he promised, breaking the uncomfortable silence. "But I wouldn't want to show our cards too soon."

"Of course, sir," Tanya nodded.

Rushing to the field with more players than the rules allowed could trigger a whole host of other problems. Forget Plan B, the Army was looking at their covert rearmament as an emergency backstop labeled as some letter in the middle of the alphabet. Until the politicians had succeeded in chipping away at the treaty or negotiating some other quid pro quo with the Commonwealth or States, Romel wasn't wrong in being circumspect about the idea of drawing a line in the sand when they didn't absolutely have to.

"Degurechaff," Romel called, as she left his office.

She turned back.

"Give the poor boy a break every once in a while, won't you?" he asked, with a wink and then a wave of dismissal.

Tanya waited until she was facing the door to roll her eyes. Lehrgen could get a break from dealing with reality when she did.

xXx

General or no, Erich von Lehrgen made his first and second cup of coffee every morning by his own hand.

The first at home, done in the old method over the stove, a handful of grounds unfailingly mixed in for him to pretend not to notice as he drank, topped off with an inexact splash of cream. That cup was never savored. Perfecting it was not a worthwhile imposition on his time.

The second cup was made shortly after he arrived to the office. It would be sipped slowly as he relished the leisure of his morning. A bad cup would ruin it, and everything that came after. He prepared it with the according care.

The kettle, removed from heat after it had begun to shake but before it whistled. Its water, poured at just the right speed through the filter. Cream, added until the shade of brown matched the muted tone of the kitchen's wallpaper. The process was as much a reward as the product.

Each morning's precariously overfull cup carried in it the vain aspiration that it alone would be sufficient to see the day through. Carefully, carefully so it didn't spill, Lehrgen floated it up off the counter with both hands. Eyes locked onto every minute ripple of the mug's contents, his feet began the unnatural, too-smooth glide back to his desk.

"Damn," he cursed, the expletive leaving his mouth before he felt the burn of scalding liquid on his hand, his arm jolted by a collision with someone else rounding the same corner as him. "I'm sorry."

When he registered whom he'd just emptied three-quarters of a cup over, he bit back a more uncouth tidbit of profanity. In spite of the fact that it was technically her fault for walking on the wrong side of the hall, he was going to be made very sorry for perpetrating the indignity, he was sure. Tanya was smiling up at him. Beaming. He would almost go so far as to say _glowing_. Unspeakable tortures would be enacted upon him for interrupting her trip back from the bathroom by forcing her to wear the substance she held most dear.

"It's alright," she said, wiping her face off with a sleeve, grin as of yet remaining, like she was envisioning in what creative ways she would take her revenge. "I was distracted. It was my mistake."

The alarm bells continued clanging while he stood there, everything about the picture he was seeing wrong in some indeterminate way, as if he'd been sent to a world where the rules of logic were ever-so-slightly off.

"I can pay for the shirt," he offered. "It's probably ruined."

"No need," she intoned cheerily.

"Are you sure?"

"It's hard to ruin a day that starts off perfectly," she said, with a nod and another wipe of her face to clear the coffee that had seeped down from her hair.

He raised an eyebrow, curious as to by what stretch of the imagination her present circumstances could be termed _starting off perfectly_.

"Just some good news this morning," she continued, waving the implied question off.

"Well, it's still an hour before the start to the day," he said, after glancing down to double-check the time on his watch. "Get yourself home and cleaned up."

"Will do, sir," she replied. Her journey to her office was promptly resumed, leaving him to go duplicate the painstakingly-made cup, with the exception of leaving a half-centimeter of room to spare at the top.

He walked back to his own office still feeling like the world was out of alignment. It might not be until after he had his second coffee in hand that he read the paper in earnest, but he made a quick perusal of it over his first so he'd know where to draw the line between what he needed to read and what he wanted to. None of what he remembered seeing had struck him as _good_.

He picked up the paper again once he was settled behind his desk. An instant later, his shoulders sagged. One of the front page articles was a profile of the newest sensation in Ildoa. Silvio Berluscone. The champion of the people, out to restore the glory of Rome. Caesar, born again.

_Just how much can she predict? _he thought, setting his cup down to cradle his head in his hands. It had been inside of three weeks since she described a leader of his ilk.

Slovania was a constituent of the Ostrian Empire now. From a military standpoint, defending its borders was the absolute definition of _not his problem anymore. _Or, it wouldn't be, if they lived in a vacuum.

Were the Ostrians to suffer the ignominy of Ildoa taking the territory, in whole or in part, only the intentionally ignorant would fail to realize the precedent it set. Immediately and perhaps irrevocably, the citizens of the Germanic Empires would alienate themselves from an international syndicate which had confiscated the bulk of their armies and then refused to assist when the predictable cannibalization began.

Of all the sorts of days, his least favorite were the sort where his most effective act was reduced to sending up a prayer. On the off chance it helped, he'd make the brief pilgrimage down the street to Johanneskirche on Sunday. At times, it was hard to escape the feeling that the only entity with the power to proscribe Tanya the destiny she intended to carve into the history books might be God Himself.

Might be, because even God would have His hands full.

* * *

_A/N I would write an omake where the main characters have to raise the not-Antichrist together, but Good Omens already did it 1000x better. Also I can't believe I took three shots of frathouse-grade liquor midday on an empty stomach with no chaser to make completely sure I wasn't impairing Lehrgen too much, only for Vol. 7 to make him sound like Tanya could outdrink him, he's on the naughty list now._

_Deep thought of the day: Why did the animators change Lehrgen's character design when they could've just stuck Milo Thatch in uniform?_


	21. A little bit of Erica by my side

.

_IMPORTANT A/N August 2020 - It's everyone's favorite: Rewrite time! After hitting 200k words I managed to get some form of a writing style together and revised both my original diction and some of the plot to be better. This is currently the last updated chapter. If you keep reading past this, you may notice that A) time jumps backwards, and B) the writing is noticeably worse for a few chapters. I am very much still working on this story I just want to get it all in a more unified/mature style. Thanks for reading!_

**September 15, 1930  
Outside Schafhausen, Waldstätte Confederacy**

There was a reassuring mildness to the planks of beaten wood as Erich von Lehrgen trailed his finger along the workbench while he passed. The same temperature as the air, maybe a degree cooler to the touch, it was more alive than the unnaturally hot or cold metal surrounding it. A reminder that he wasn't in the middle of some prophetic revelation showing him why the gods had punished Prometheus for giving humanity the gift of fire, and in doing so, given them an ability to create and control and destroy on a scale previously reserved for the divine.

He ventured along the factory floor with less trepidation than he'd begun the day. The sparks in the air were less threatening than they appeared. An hour ago, when they'd hit a hand that had gestured too far, he'd barely felt their heat. Now that his ears had adjusted, the individual clinks and clanks and clunks of metal were no longer an alien roar. He was even starting to understand the pattern that governed the rhythm of the work.

_Or not, _he thought, nearly bumping into a bald, hunched goblin of a man wielding a blowtorch who hurled hateful eyes after him.

Feeling out-of-place for reasons beyond being a freshly-pressed charcoal suit in a sea of patched overalls and stained smocks, Lehrgen strode along to catch up with the floor manager as they made their way to the next station.

He paused again midway to let a crew of four run by, and at the interruption repeated to himself what he wanted to note down once he was out of harm's way. Among other lessons, he'd learned he'd grown far too accustomed to people moving out of his path and not the other way around, which had turned his habit of writing while walking into an invitation for papers scattered and trampled on the floor.

On the surface, the rifle he picked up out of the pile bore a close resemblance to the first G98 he'd been issued almost twenty years ago, a familiar, meter-high friend made of wood and steel. On the surface. Reliably as the design had served the Imperial Army, it hadn't survived the war without any modifications. The fiery baptism had taught them a thing or two about what worked. And a thing or three about what didn't.

His hirsute tour guide, a Mr. Eberle, turned to him, stroking a mustache styled in a way that was last in fashion during Lehrgen's very earliest memories of childhood.

"Those are off to Finnland," Eberle told him. "Prototypes. To see if we've made them something that works as well as the Federation's in the cold."

Their weapons had been designed to fight off all enemies, with the exception of mankind's oldest and cruelest. He'd seen more than one soldier in Logistics huddled in a corner while they coached themselves through a nervous breakdown.

Heat had spoiled food. Sandstorms had simultaneously scrapped entire boxes of spell-laden bullets and jammed every piece of equipment with a moving part. Icy cold had defeated engines only for the ice to melt so water could do its own form of damage.

Though the Imperial arms industry might not be able to benefit from designing weapons for its own army, there was nothing stopping them from doing so on behalf of others and learning in the process, the only caveat being that they couldn't export from home soil to foreign territory. Foreign territory to foreign territory was fair game. Rudersdorf hadn't established himself in Waldstätte for nothing.

Lehrgen raised the rifle higher until it was level with his eyes, inspecting the precise beauty of Imperial engineering until his gaze flickered to a man disappearing and reappearing in what had previously looked like the back corner of the factory, where there must have been a hall instead.

Absentmindedly, he replaced the weapon to the pile he'd drawn it from so he could investigate. War stories of booby-trapped curiosities hadn't succeeded in removing all traces of a boyhood fascination with secret passages, which the architect of their estate had inconveniently declined to include. The neighboring Dohnoff property had been blessed with several, which a seven-year-old Marian had discovered and withheld, revealing one at random as a treat, so that each time his parents were invited to visit thereafter he begged to go along and the nurse had to pack up and bring Otto also.

Behind him, he could hear the double-timed steps of Eberle trying to keep pace. No shouts asking what he was doing were a good indication the factory kept no secrets other than those belonging to the Imperial Army.

Through a false wall, into an air raid shelter which itself had a false floor, then down a ladder, he climbed until his feet hit solid ground and stepped hesitantly forward. He jumped when something brushed across his forehead before realizing it was a cord. His hand fumbled to find it again then pulled, lighting up the room as Eberle finished his descent.

"I see you've found our mistakes," he said, turning his powerfully stocky frame around and sweeping an arm out, each word he spoke adulterated with a Suabian accent as thick and impenetrable as its Black Forest origins. Lehrgen envied him the ease he must have enjoyed in deciphering the local Waldstätten dialect. "So far, we've only found one client for 'em."

Not every product went successfully to market. Any auditor deigning to check the books would see nothing strange about offloading unpopular inventory at a thin margin, and if he pried into the buyer he'd only stop and laugh once he saw it was someone in Magna Rumeli taking the rejects no proper Europaen army wanted.

At Eberle's gesture, Lehrgen took a dull metal case down from the nearest shelf and unlatched it, digging his thumbs into metal when unused springs resisted.

The weapon inside, with its long, sturdy barrel of burnished steel dotted with holes like dark, malevolent eyes and without the ugly bulk typical of a machine gun, resembled death so closely a man from the Stone Age would have known to fear it. A new breed of weapon for a new breed of warfare.

With reverent care, he lifted it from its resting place and hefted the unfamiliar battlefield companion in his arms. The official demonstration wasn't for another month, making him one of the first to hold it aside from the officers sent back and forth during development.

"It's heavy," Lehrgen frowned. Unless his exercise regimen was in want of an update, it overshot the ten kilograms they'd requested as the weight limit.

"Not too heavy for one man to carry," Eberle said, giving a shrug. "Unless the Army's in worse a state than I'd heard."

The lovechild of half a hundred minds, it had taken all the resentments of the Army's leadership combined, plus the better part of a year, to conceive a scenario under which an enemy could be encouraged to think twice about continuing an incursion and then deliver up a weapon suited to the task. Lehrgen's own addition to the design had more or less been in ensuring it was operable by a single soldier.

"Give her a try?" Eberle asked after another moment, cracking a wide smile.

He hesitated a moment. Machine gun technique was well outside his range of expertise. Authority Eberle no doubt was in his field, Lehrgen hardly wanted to embarrass himself in front of a man who looked like he'd consider it an accomplishment if all his children finished primary school.

"What the hell," he chuckled a second later. He'd probably never see the other man again; there were few better places to make a fool of himself. And it was a poor army that judged its generals purely on competence in handling a machine gun.

From a deep pocket, Eberle produced a variegated key ring. By what could only be a form of divination, he plucked the desired key out from its peers and unlocked yet another unobtrusive door, this one nearly obscured by a shelving unit.

"Bit of a walk," the other man said, once they stepped into a tunnel, the low ceiling intermittently lit by orange-hued bulbs strung too far apart to eliminate dark patches.

In the time it had taken for _bit of a walk _to prove to be an understatement, Lehrgen's initial interest in the passageway had faded. It would qualify as the most tactless combination of Medieval and industrial styles he'd run across if it weren't the sole member of the category. Unpleasantly dim with no mystery to the repetitive subway tile, uncomfortably claustrophobic yet perfectly safe on account of warning signs near potential hazards, his list could go on.

Eyes resigning themselves to finding nothing more intriguing than the uneven chops Eberle had made when he'd cut the back of his own hair - unless he paid someone to do that to him - Lehrgen let his concentration drift back to work-related matters.

It was the first truly illicit project he'd worked on. Not quite yet, at least not going by the strictest letter of the law, because there was nothing illicit about the business he was touring being owned by Imperial investors nor in the business hiring veteran workers of the Imperial arms industry. He had signed his name to no papers, and wouldn't. Apparently, he'd made Romel's "not particularly expendable" list.

Regardless, he knew. In not so long, the case he was carrying along with all the others would be sold to a representative of the government of Magna Rumeli more interested in sourcing funds and friends for the future country of Turkie than in doing the same for a dying empire. Whether he assisted the Imperial Army or not, their Rumelian contact would already be in conflict with every power in Europa waiting for a chance to divvy up the spoils.

Through a method his own subordinate had devised involving a dizzying dozen other businesses that all led back to Imperial ownership, the Army would take possession of the weapons. In itself that was arguably legal so long as they didn't cross the border into Imperial territory.

What would be illegal was when they did cross, which he knew they would, even if he remained innocent of the details of how and when. Three thousand of the new class of "universal" machine guns, slightly over the two-thousand eight-hundred and thirty-five they were currently allowed between heavy and light, would slip by to find a final destination in some old aristocrat's potato cellar, and select members of the Imperial Army would be invited for weekend visits to the estate so they could go hunting for whichever animal required sustained gunfire to kill.

Legally, they could have produced the same guns in the approved and inspected Imperial factory. Maybe it was only how he justified it to himself, but their only sin would be housing both the new and old machine guns in the country at the same time. And the only reason they were doing that was because the only strength left to their Army at the moment was the element of surprise when they swapped out the old weapons for the new.

In an overabundance of caution - the same caution exercised in designating the face of the factory floor to be a man whose indifferent attempts at standard Germanian made him hard to distinguish from a proud Waldstätter grudgingly adapting his language for foreign clients - the Imperial Army did their utmost to show any Commonwealth inspectors what they expected to see.

Unnecessarily prudent? Maybe. So far, the Albish guests announcing their visits to Imperial territory weeks in advance had been more concerned with checking off boxes than checking every square inch of space for abnormalities. That aside, any hint that there had been a temporary overhaul to the Imperial Army's strategic plans was to be kept invisible. Unconventional tactics only worked so long as a curiously probing army came prepared to fight a conventional war.

A bright-white plaque jarred Lehrgen briefly out of his thoughts so he could duck under a sign warning him that he'd have to duck under an underground pipe with only a meter and a half of clearance. He hoped that meant he'd reached the halfway point of his impromptu journey, his feet vaguely registering flat ground after they'd been on a slow descent for the past twenty minutes.

If the Imperial Army couldn't win battles, their next best option was to not lose them. In other words, refuse to meet for a handful of engagements that would result in the inevitable capture or death of the bulk of their soldiers. They'd do more damage as a highly-trained and well-equipped resistance force of sorts, keeping aspiring occupiers constantly peeking over shoulders, ruining resupply efforts, looking for opportunities to outmaneuver, cut off, then crush an enemy by bits and pieces.

Their options, as Romel had so succinctly put it when he'd proposed making a national strategy out of what he did best, were to "lose fast, or lose slow enough to make a difference."

It was common knowledge that three of their neighbors - the Republic, the Entente, the Federation - had originally wanted the Empire split into more constituent states than two. International politics moving in a more conciliatory direction since didn't preclude one or all of them from reneging on the agreement and testing the waters.

In the case of the Federation, losing slowly enough meant time to tempt the rest of Europa into joining an anti-Communist cause. In the case of a country that elected its leaders, any war in the near future would have to be sold as quick and easy. Deny a politician that, and the voters might decide a vote of no-confidence was in order.

In the best case scenario, they'd buy enough time to convert factories back to armaments production and rush former soldiers through a refresher course, and maybe they wouldn't have to lose at all. Attractive as that sounded, his country's factories weren't that efficient. Yet.

For now, what they had was their newest weapon. Light enough to be carried, powerful enough to lay down defensive fire, versatile enough to mount on a variety of vehicles. Easy to mass-produce, easy on the budget compared to older styles, and easy to use, if not easy to use well.

"Almost there," Eberle called, interrupting Lehrgen moments before the older man fished out another key from his ring in near-total darkness to unlock a hatch in the ceiling.

Stepping out into a field dappled with sunlight where it pierced through the cloud cover had Lehrgen instinctively taking a deep breath of fresh air. In spite of the two kilometers or more of distance they'd covered getting away from the factory, the metallic tang of industry seized his senses in an unkind betrayal by the direction of the wind. He'd expected to draw in the cloying perfume the penultimate days of summer cloaked itself in, of thick air that brought warm rain and flowers turning from fecund to fetid as they hovered at their death, and his neighbor's herb garden when the housekeeper trimmed the leaves to dress dinner. In reality, a cigarette would have smelled more natural.

He undid the single button holding his suit together and shrugged the jacket off, folded it neatly and placed it on a friendly-looking growth of grass, then approached the patchier section of earth where elbows had exposed the dirt. His would almost certainly be the first elbows to touch down in newly-purchased businesswear. A valiant sacrifice for his country.

He wasn't so helpless he couldn't unfold the bipod without instruction. Once that was done, he peered through the sights and adjusted his positioning without much surety he'd hit the target five hundred meters out.

"You saw action on the front?" Eberle asked.

"Saw being the operative word," Lehrgen replied, wishing he was still standing so he could scuff a heel in the grass.

"Surprising, unless you've found the fountain of youth," the other man said evenly, evidently a practiced hand at disguising his scorn from superior officers.

"I was through War College by the time it all started," he deflected. "You?"

"Not so young anymore, me," Eberle grinned. "Wasn't called up until that big fuss before we took Parisee. Eastern Front later on."

"Didn't put you off weapons, I see."

"It was this or logging," Eberle said, with a humorless laugh. "Like my father. And his father. And however many fathers since we learned to use axes."

"I know the feeling," Lehrgen said, checking his sights one more time to be sure he was as sure as he could be.

"Military family?" Eberle guessed.

Lehrgen shook his left hand in a so-so gesture.

"Not sure we should've thrown our cards in with you Preussians," Eberle laughed, all the way from his belly. "Too ambitious, the lot of you. And look at where it got us."

"To a world where loggers can have sons who run factories," Lehrgen laughed back.

"Well said," Eberle conceded with good humor. "And your sons? Destined for the Army?"

Lehrgen shifted his weight so he could wave his conspicuously ring-free right hand in the air.

"Just as well," Eberle tsked. "If I ever bring up my time in the war, wife only wants to tell me I did my duty and stop whining about it."

"You have children?"

"Three. Living, at least. Oldest son's a doctor. Girl ran off to write for some magazine before she could get settled. Younger boy's in university for chemistry."

A short hum of surprise left Lehrgen's mouth unbidden.

"What?" Eberle asked.

"Nothing," Lehrgen replied. "Nothing. Just...my congratulations."

"Good thing you Preussians took such an interest in education. Don't know where they'd be without scholarships," Eberle winked, then gestured at where Lehrgen was still lying in the grass. "Guess we should get on with it. If you were anywhere near any front, you'll know this won't be kind on the ears."

Loading the ammunition belt was a matter of sliding a bolt back and forth and keeping in mind the difference between the up and down sides, which Lehrgen was duly assured was much easier to confuse while under fire. Regardless, even without training it took a bare handful of seconds. One requirement he could check off.

"Never aimed one of these before," he admitted, readying himself to fire. "Anything I should know?"

"Don't get your hopes up," Eberle advised.

"I'm not so bad as you'd expect," Lehrgen replied, tapping knowingly at his glasses. "Quite good, actually."

"Don't matter so much as you'd expect. Accuracy isn't where we'd like it to be. Maybe next prototype. Not so important when you can get out bursts that fast."

_It was important to someone, _Lehrgen thought, giving a small sigh. He'd have to report that back to General Fahrion. He'd apparently been the one person to request the impossible so far in this endeavor.

Back during the phase where they'd gathered up requirements and requests and wishes, Zettour had kept everyone's noses forcefully shoved into their papers until they'd unearthed every iota of written wisdom from former officers. Plenty had turned up they hadn't had time to review during the war. Some captain or other who claimed they were overestimating the range a soldier's personal firearm needed to cover by double or more. They'd look into that suggestion. One day. When they could dream about fighting proper battles again.

Among Lehrgen's own personal records there had been a grumbling of sorts from a former lieutenant colonel, aged thirteen at the time of writing, which sounded more bizarre the further they got from those days. According to her, the Imperial Army had trouble with versatility.

She'd meant it in the context of switching from offensive to defensive roles. By her account, the Eastern Front had been tumultuous, to say the least, when their men needed to beat a hasty retreat. Nonetheless, versatility had gotten everyone thinking they could design a weapon meant to do more than represent an updated version of their old ones.

He was sure Tanya would be nothing short of delighted to know that in her own small way she'd contributed to their next generation of deadly weapons, which was why he was determined never to mention it to her. Someone else probably had, in any case.

_I hope we aren't billed extra for these bullets, _Lehrgen thought to himself with a smile, taking a final deep breath in and letting all the air out. When he squeezed, the brief motion loosed too many shots for him to count individually, like they'd weaponized the sound of a flip book's pages flickering by. Instinctively, his finger retracted.

"Hardest part will be training the boys not to waste ammo," Eberle commented, still crouched next to him. "Lighter spring slows it down."

"We'll find a way to stage a mock-up for educational purposes, I'm sure," Lehrgen said.

"Too much enthusiasm and heat'll warp the barrel," the other man continued, tapping at the warm metal, "but for demonstration, well - I'm telling you, you really should try emptying the thing."

With only another deep breath, his finger depressed the trigger again. The muscle responsible for the motion twitched, wanting to jump back at the sound of fire. He didn't let it.

In all of a few seconds, the remaining rounds were making some modernist art piece out of his target and some of the trees behind it. Perhaps they could start selling their old practice pieces to museums to raise some extra money. A meditation on man, the machine, and the tragedy of the human condition. An artist's dream.

He was back on his feet and dusting off his trousers nearly as quickly as he'd finished his _pièce de résistance, _before he could be handed another round of ammunition to load.

"I-," he began, grabbing at his right hand to still it, "I'm not sure we should've invented that. It's almost appalling."

"What, being on the other end and hearing how quick it unloads? Wasn't that the point?" Eberle chuckled.

"Well, yes, but more that…" Lehrgen paused again for a steadying breath. "It's...it's a bit…"

"A bit fun, isn't it?" the other man said, patting him on the back.

"A bit, yes," Lehrgen agreed. "Think I could use a drink."

"Really makes you understand mortality, doesn't it?"

"Makes me understand something far better than I'd like to, anyway," he sighed.

"Go into town. Find the town hall. Go north, away from the river, that is, take a left at the next street, second shop on your left is where you'll find lunch and a good beer."

"Appreciate it," Lehrgen said. "And before we're done here, I could fire this from standing?"

Eberle looked him up and down.

"Could…" he said slowly. "Wouldn't recommend it unless you'd like a sore shoulder."

"I'll take your word for it."

Lehrgen picked up his notebook back up to scrawl out the last of his notes. They would have fit perfectly onto the last page if he hadn't remembered a final question.

"And to change the barrel?" he asked. Given how he'd forgotten to ask earlier when they'd touched on the subject of overheating, his mind must've taken its vacation a bit early.

Eberle leaned down and snatched the rifle off the ground.

"Slide this bolt here," he said, demonstrating for effect. The barrel neatly popped out the side. All of a half day's training and a toddler could do it halfway competently.

"Imperial engineering," Lehrgen muttered in a sort of believing disbelief, as he looked for a page towards the beginning of his notebook when he'd reveled in the halcyon days of being reckless with blank spaces, to record his _last _last notes for the day.

Sufficient uninhabited territory encountered on page thirty-seven, he folded down the corner of the paper so he wouldn't forget where his out-of-order notes had gotten to and hung his jacket over his arm in preparation for his walk back. By the time he was done, Eberle had gotten the weapon back in its case.

He waved Lehrgen along towards a service road. Five minutes later, he heard gravel crunching. When he turned his head to the left, a truck was lumbering towards them.

The cabin already had one more passenger than it was designed for squashed inside. He and Eberle climbed onto the back and spent another five minutes collecting a layer of dust. After the ride was over, he took his glasses off and blew on them, then turned to face a wall and tugged a section of undershirt free to wipe down the lenses.

"Right," Lehrgen said, offering a final handshake to his font of factory expertise. "I'll let you get back to work while I take a look from up above."

The steps to the mezzanine weren't difficult to find, even without the benefit of a tour guide. For a moment, he simply stood and stared down, like having a bird's eye view would bring the whirlwind below into harmony. The Imperial talent for industry was, perhaps, an extension of the same traits that made them well-suited to distilling the maelstrom of war into something that could be directed into neatly outlined plans, every soldier accounted for and every soldier accountable for his specific task.

A hand clapped down on his shoulder from behind, with a firmness that told him he wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of those same fingers balled into a fist.

"It's something else, isn't it?" Kurt von Rudersdorf said, with a bark of laughter. "I'm almost sorry I never got the chance to see the bellows of the Imperial war machine in their heyday."

"It's…" he hesitated, not sure if mesmerizing or terrifying was the more accurate description. Both, if he told the truth. His former boss was doing altogether too good of a job pursuing a vision of what used to be.

"Not really words for it, are there?" asked Hans von Zettour, silently coming up alongside him. Silently only in the context of their environs. He would have needed to shout his approach for it to be heard over the noise.

"Are they all like this?" he asked back, voice raised enough to be heard.

"You'll have to see for yourself," Rudersdorf grinned, ushering him out. "Tomorrow you're visiting the plant in Orlikon?"

Lehrgen nodded. "And the one in Thoun the day after."

"And then we'll take a hunting trip. Since this is a vacation." Rudersdorf reached into a pocket and drew out a slip of paper. "So if that's settled, here's the lunch recommendations the hotel gave me."

"I got one already."

"Not sure a factory man's got the same tastes."

"You might be surprised," Lehrgen said, after a second spent mulling his former boss's piece of wisdom.

A half-hour later, a cold beer was spilling its frothy excess over his fingers. It was as good as promised.

"So," Rudersdorf said, after they'd moved onto their second round. "I hear you kept Degurechaff for yourself instead of letting those big ideas of hers contribute to someone else's career."

"A decision I have yet to regret," Lehrgen replied truthfully. Mentioning her rather nefarious plans last month had been a downright excellent way to shore up any doubts he had about why he bothered himself with keeping an eye on her. If the story was that he'd done it for no reason beyond furthering his own career, so much the better, insulting as the accusation may be.

"Still," Zettour laughed. "I suppose the reason you're working on vacation is if you'd billed it as a work trip with some leisure included, she might've tagged along."

Zettour didn't know the half of it. Not long after he returned home, Lehrgen was scheduled for a visit to their remaining approved location for storing, and occasionally manufacturing, replacement parts for their artillery. Tanya had practically begged to come along, and he hadn't found an adequate reason to say no.

"I thought you couldn't get enough of her," Rudersdorf snorted, eyes sliding slyly in Zettour's direction.

"I said I implicitly trust her intuition when it comes to strategy," Zettour countered. "A bit different than wanting to go on holiday with her hanging around."

_Right, _Lehrgen sighed, stuffing his mouth with several forkfuls of _spätzle _in case anything remotely resembling _I told you so _wanted to sneak its way out. _Which is why I made sure she couldn't find an excuse to join. _Implicit trust wasn't what her latest strategic gem called "abuse everyone's goodwill until they're forced to start another world war in some futile attempt to stop a nation that worships the opinion of a madwoman" deserved.

Then again, leaving Tanya in the office, unsupervised, to her own unfortunate devices - vices, really, more than anything - was nearly as unpalatable an option. One day to herself was all it had taken the last time for blood-stained little fingers to paw through his belongings.

He couldn't prove it, which he knew, and which she undoubtedly knew as well. The only place it didn't sound paranoid was inside his own head. In the history of ever, nobody alleging their papers had been rifled through did it because the papers had been left in perfect order, especially not when the accuser was known for being whatever the opposite of slovenly was. Persnickety, according to the new word his brother had learned in Albish as of his last letter.

Orderly, yes. Perfect order, no. Never. And that was how he knew. When his papers got bumped during overnight cleaning, they were put back turned this way and that and invariably out of sequence. When he left them, they were one minor detail short of perfect. And in all his time, he'd met few perfectionists willing to outdo him.

It wasn't a superstition, quite. He'd never heard of such a stupid superstition. So stupid it was inadmissable unless he fancied repeating the pysch evaluation at such an awkward point in his career. A personal quirk was all it was.

He'd never liked things that were too even, not since his earliest memories. Shoes were to be lined up so one was a bit ahead of the other. He'd surreptitiously move a chair a centimeter forward out of its row. The top paper on his stack was always skewed the slightest bit, to the side, to the top, shifted down. The method varied, but the fact remained that the top paper was not to be left immaculately in alignment with everything under it.

One stack of papers that he'd collated and forgotten to blemish, maybe. Perhaps. The least known harbinger of the apocalypse, but possible. All his papers left too neatly, and he was either already dead and the rest of the world along with him, or someone had mistaken perfection minus one degree for the real thing. He couldn't imagine who. Flattering, in its own way.

As with anything, it could be a coincidence. While this may have never happened in his almost twenty years of working life, he couldn't rule it out. Maybe there was some other explanation that didn't include him hiring Tanya less than two months prior, her being overly curious what the rearmament plans were, and coming back to find his too-neat piles after Christmas, the only day on which he definitively knew she'd been in the office when he hadn't. But yes, it could have been the guard at the front door. Fritz was such an untrustworthy fellow.

Apparently, lock-picking had been the one skill missing amongst her eclectic set, as everything he'd wanted to hide had remained undisturbed. Unless she was playing a very clever psychological trick on him, which he couldn't rule out. Nonetheless, that deficiency was sure to have been remedied in the intervening months if she was so interested.

On second thought, he had done one thing counter to the rules he'd sworn to uphold: take sensitive documents home and lock them up there. Provided that she hadn't bribed the admin in Personnel with more money that he had, which would be impressive, even for her, Tanya would remain blissfully unaware of his home address.

"Anyway," Zettour continued, after they'd all taken several long sips of their drinks, "I'd reckon she's not so bad to have around the office as you'd thought. I'd have kept her on myself when she asked for a friend, but...well, politics, you know."

The optics of the Army's highest-profile personality rehiring an at-best contentious figure from the war during the months of its immediate aftermath hadn't been what Zettour needed when he was trying to make assurances he wouldn't be a reckless leader. Two years later and it was still for the best that Tanya was under Lehrgen's wing instead of Romel's. Anyone scrutinizing the life and choices of Erich von Lehrgen had run into a very low point in their journalism career indeed.

It took some hardship, but he managed to prove equally capable of rendering his vocal chords as mute with alcohol as with food before anything regrettable left his mouth. He waved his finger in the air for a third round before he answered Zettour's implied question.

"More a product of lack of opportunity than motive, I assure you," he replied succinctly. "And if you don't mind, I am on vacation, so further discussion of the subject…?"

"Over," Zettour sighed, with an impish smile. "Though I'll just ask again next time."

xXx

Marksmanship was not what made a great hunter. Mostly, it was patience. For walking, for finding the right spot, for waiting, for walking again.

They were in the middle of the first round of walking now. It had been an early departure from the cabin they'd rented. Already, they'd progressed through the four seasons within two hours. High in the mountains, the day had dawned with a wintry chill, been superceded by a late-summer sun warming the sair, continued on to a spring shower, and by now had descended into an autumnal mist.

"I shouldn't have retired," Zettour groaned, the dampened crush of underbrush beneath his feet alerting only the creatures within a two-hundred meter radius, instead of the full kilometer the sound would have been sent ricocheting through the air were the weather in a mood to crackle clean and crisp. "Turned me into an old man. Barely in decent shape anymore."

"You?" Rudersdorf guffawed, the deep voice resonating further than the sound of their boots. He threw the shoulders of his broader frame back and slapped his stomach. "Look at me."

"Never retire," Zettour said, wagging his finger in Lehrgen's direction. "It'll be the death of you."

"As will working too hard," he laughed. "Or so I've been told."

"It's how they get you," Rudersdorf chuckled, taking the hand he'd offered to clear a steep outcropping. "One way or another."

His former boss paused for a moment to take his bearings. Lehrgen did the same. Or tried to, at any rate.

The section of earth they were stumbling through was indistinguishable from any other in the area. Low bushes already on their way to hibernation and scrubby greenery intermingled with rock face as far as the eye could see, the triple peaks of Eiger, Mönch, and Jungfrau on the distant horizon the sole landmarks.

Rudersdorf must have found some pastoral inspiration in the scenery to point them to the right, where at long last they met up with a hunter's path around the hill.

"A question in confidence," Lehrgen said, once there was an obvious trail to follow. "If I may."

"Shoot," Zettour said. Lehrgen turned back just in time to see him winking at the pun.

"Romel," Lehrgen sighed. "He's good at turning disadvantages around, no denying that. But wasn't part of the problem that he ignored the larger schematics? Why nominate him to succeed you?"

"Was," Zettour puffed, as they clambered ever higher. "It was the problem. He focuses on what's in front of him. So, put everything in front of him where there is no ignoring, problem solved. Plus, he came through the war with a clean record. Army needed a man like that, one without past mistakes casting suspicion on us."

"You run into trouble with him?" Rudersdorf interjected. "I always heard he rather liked you."

"Not him, exactly," Lehrgen replied, feeling his own lungs beginning to prick and burn.

"Your boss," Zettour guessed.

Lehrgen nodded. "I suppose my question should've been what you think about Romel promoting him. You know him."

"As a solid officer," Zettour agreed.

"And one that fantasizes about fighting battles that are over," Lehrgen muttered. "Isn't that dangerous?"

"You can't have an army full of soldiers who know they can't win," Rudersdorf offered. "The men on the ground need a man who tells them all the reasons it's possible, not why it isn't."

"So, what, I've hit a ceiling until I learn some optimism?" Lehrgen laughed, crouching low to duck under a rock.

Zettour grunted as he did the same. "Army needs a few honest men," he said. "Or else we'll always be heading to battle too early."

"Shh," Rudersdorf cut in, his hand waving their words away. "There."

It wasn't the herd they'd been tracking. A lone chamois, munching away at its breakfast, none the wiser it was going to be tonight's dinner.

"No good," Zettour whispered, checking through his sights. "Angle's too low."

Wordlessly, Lehrgen took his own rifle off his shoulder and handed it to Rudersdorf. As silently as he could manage he hauled himself up onto the rock they'd ducked under, then up two more.

From his stomach he shifted as far as he dared over the edge and beckoned for his gun back, then grasped for the top of the barrel as it wavered back and forth, lifted so high in Rudersdorf's grasp he had it between fingertips.

His target embalmed in the placid dream of mealtime, Lehrgen took the opportunity to adjust his setup. One chance was all he'd get before it scampered away.

It lifted its head and his focus narrowed down to nothing beyond what was between notched metal, tracking minute movements as the head turned a little more, then a little more. _A little more, _he encouraged, one last time.

The echo of the shot still rung in his ears when the animal dropped to the ground. If its death was respectful, peaceful, a graceful buckling of joints, neither struggling nor suffering, its aftermath played a cruel and final joke on the majestic creature. An undignified tumble down the slope until it hit a copse of withering alpenrose completed the picture, a clownish spectacle of flailing limbs like a cast-away toy providing a parting moment of amusement.

Lehrgen lay still on the cool bed of rock, eyes the only thing moving until he memorized the resting place of his quarry in relation to his own, mentally calculating the easiest method of retrieving it.

His hop down from his perch was soon followed by two congratulatory claps to the shoulder, one on either side. With repeated assurances that he needed no assistance, he cut his path across the hill alone.

The borrowed knife he drew from his pack cut a sharp line through the hide, though he was careful not to pierce what lay below. As soon as the incision was large enough, hot entrails slipped out to steam in the cool air.

The next part was the one he'd detested since downing his first deer in the modest woods near his home. It was better if no one bore witness to the pause he took to steel his nerves before his hands pushed through a sticky array of organs while he severed them from the carcass. As viscerally disgusting as it was necessary to preserve the meat on its way to the butcher.

Trusting brisk Alpine air to leech away the remaining body heat, he wasted no time trussing the animal to carry. He picked his way through the treacherous landscape more carefully on his return, his balance threatened by the weight on his back, one slip away from meeting the same disgraceful fate he'd witnessed from afar.

When their path had given way from a narrow line trampled along steep mountain to well-packed dirt winding through gentle hills speckled with fall blooms, Lehrgen had the energy to raise a second question for his advisors.

"Any thoughts on the news out of Ildoa?"

The sentence broke the companionable silence they'd fallen into and hung in the air while it waited for acknowledgement. Rudersdorf's grandfatherly chuckle was the sole response for an entire minute.

"I owe them a thanks," he said after a time, looking back over his shoulder towards his guests. "For the first time I've come to appreciate having the Ostrians as a separate nation. The Ildoans aren't our problem anymore."

"That's not entirely true," Lehrgen countered, while he shifted his cargo into a more comfortable position. "Legal status aside, if they're attacked for being weak, are our own citizens going to write it off as unrelated? We'll end up with a slew of crazed politicians of our own and be dragged back into a losing war before we know it."

"You're giving southerners too much credit," Zettour said. "It'll be ten years before the Ildoans rally themselves to stand up, much less into forward motion. By then we'll be on firmer ground to handle it."

Lehrgen reached up to hold a branch away from his face and nodded along. After a couple years of economic growth, fewer voters would be willing to gamble with their prosperity.

"And as usual, you're worried about things out of your control," Rudersdorf added. "Instead of the more important question of how we're dividing the spoils."

They argued themselves in a circle over who would pay the butcher, the one point of agreement being that splitting the cost was out of the question on the grounds of being too middle-class. By virtue of seniority, Rudersdorf settled the debate in his favor.

The tenderloins would be tomorrow night's dinner. Rudersdorf would take the large cuts, as he didn't need to cross a border to get them home. Lehrgen and Zettour would split equal amounts of sausage after the butcher cured it for them. For making the kill, Lehrgen had earned the right to the horns, fifteen centimeters of black-brown with a hook on the end.

A week later, packing his things to leave, he determined that by the time his train arrived in Anholter Bahnhof he would find a use for what he was bringing home. Otherwise, he'd have to open a storage chest in his attic and take a look at all the other relics of vacations past staring back accusingly.

His meals could benefit from more variety, but weren't so dull he'd willingly eat the same one day in and day out. At most, he wanted two sausage links for himself.

Passing along a roll apiece to each of his direct superiors wouldn't hurt him. Another would go to the family across the street who'd invited him for lunch every Sunday he'd had a day off during the war and had sent their housekeeper over with leftovers whether he accepted or no. That left two more packages of salted meat rolled in pepper and wrapped neatly in brown butcher's paper to give to someone who didn't fuss about their diet.

_Marian, _he thought, recalling his promise to see her at Christmas. She enjoyed hunting more than he did, and would be glad both of the souvenir and of the opportunity to remind him of his first winning shot, the time they'd tossed stones at squirrels and he'd been inconsolable upon actually hitting one.

He'd played soldier back then. Like all boys did. In his mind he'd already killed a thousand Huns and Martians and worse. He hadn't been innocent of how meat arrived at the table. And yet, when he'd seen the rock connect and then the little thing lying there he'd sat next to it with his head between his knees until the groundskeeper had picked him up and carried him home. But that's how children were. Full of dreams about what life could be and terror at what it actually was.

_Or how children are supposed to be, _he corrected himself. With time, he'd learned to accept his part in the natural order of things. What he'd come to abhor was waste, senseless killing. The animal he'd downed would do better than become a piece of art on his wall.

Twin bottle openers had been fashioned from the horns. Functional, in the hands of the right people. One of the pair he was obligated to send to his brother. The other he was tempted to keep for himself, even though his preferred brand of beer came sealed with a swing-top. He would have if not for his adjutant, who had returned from his own vacation with trinkets for a full quarter of the office, like a summertime Santa Claus, and whose birthday had come and gone while Lehrgen was away.

_That's everyone, _he told himself, checking out the window one last time to verify he wouldn't miss anything if he closed his eyes for a nap.

**September 25, 1930  
General Staff Office, Imperial Capital Berun**

Tanya put a hand to the back of her neck and rolled it side to side. _There has to be an answer, _she thought, trying to clear her head and look at her notes with fresh eyes. She only had a few days until General von Lehrgen was back in the office, and after that she could say goodbye to spending her time on a pet project.

With her boss on vacation the previous weeks, she'd found herself in want of work. Of course, she had other projects to finish up, but with nothing new coming in she'd experienced a lull in the pace of her day.

Naturally, there were peaks and troughs to any work schedule. She was happy to finally be experiencing a low, the most recent in a string of signs that her work life had returned to a healthy state. That said, she wasn't the one on vacation. A quiet week was no excuse for fifty-odd hours sitting behind her desk with nothing but a time-card to show for it.

Her time serving in the Army had given her an unwelcome taste of life during deployment. The concept of "rest" hadn't been very popular. Over the previous year, she'd been given the chance to see how soldiers spent their time when they weren't deployed. Taking a hard look at her findings, she could reach only one conclusion: the situation was dire.

Despite the forced down-sizing, the bulk of the Imperial Army, on the average day, wasn't required to do anything. The higher-ups had plenty of theorizing and strategizing, which explained why her schedule was consistently filled. As for the common soldier, a hefty chunk of his time went to what the business world labeled "non-value added activities."

She had nothing bad to say about a clean workspace, nor about frequent gear maintenance. At some point, though, it became obvious that a regular part of soldierly life was being assigned tasks for the sake of keeping busy. No self-respecting company would put up with this level of idle time.

Thousands of years of civilization, and this was the best they could come up with? Humanity's original sinners were none other than the pair of idiots that decided fighting to the death was an acceptable way of settling disputes. _Loaning out soldiers for part-time work? Job rotations?...Volunteering? _she wondered, touching her head down to her desk in defeat. _There has to be a better way of doing this._

Severe potential conflicts of interest made national defense one of the few services that wouldn't benefit from being privately funded. That was no reason for the Army to ignore the lessons of successful for-profit enterprises. A privately-funded army and a privately-run army were entirely different things.

Primarily, all military budgets suffered from a problem of highly inelastic demand. When you needed an army, you needed an army. The cost of its services had little to no effect on the Treasury's willingness to pay for said services, thus, the incentive structure for optimizing utilization of non-deployed personnel was practically nonexistent. Luckily for her country, they had her.

As any good student of the financial papers would know, spin-offs and divestments were the bread-and-butter of restructuring an ailing corporation into a streamlined and efficient machine. Post-war budget cuts had forced the Army to rethink some of its unnecessary expenditures. Now that the economy was turning around, good faith in adhering to their treaty was the only thing stopping it from growing back into the bloated monstrosity it had been three years ago so they could have ten times more soldiers rotating through mundane tasks.

A partial solution was for her to disseminate the idea of flexible employment. The only reason an army should ever hire more permanent soldiers was for a legitimate potential need of lethal force. Not because they needed more bodies on kitchen duty or more chaplains or more people managing logistics.

As a basic example, take a major fortification project. The Army could maintain a full complement of experts in-house, hire a private contractor, or some combination of the two.

When the project was finished, soldier-engineers would still be there. At that point, it would be cheaper to pay them to do nothing than to devise another project for the sake of keeping them busy. Ignoring the cost of labor as a sunk cost, some improperly-educated review board would see a falsely cheap investment and get funding for that next project anyway, and there went precious Marks she'd earned taken for more tax payments.

With an outside contractor, a project was over when it was over. The next one would be assessed fairly for expected cost and then sold to the lowest bidder, a market in which everyone was welcome to compete.

"Hey," she heard from her door, breaking her thoughts away from growing into a fantasy about her old life, when the departments she was restructuring didn't function as an emergency backup squad that needed to hang around not contributing, just in case. "You looked like you could use this."

"Sauer," she greeted, waving the bearer of two coffees closer. "Sit down for a second."

She took a sip from the cup offered to her and an explosion of flavors hit her tongue. Each one of them horribly, irredeemably bad. She placed the cup down as far away as she could get it. Rude as it might be, someone needed to take on the task of informing him he was serving up sludge.

"I thought you liked it black," he pouted.

"I do. But that's not how coffee's supposed to taste."

"It's all bad to me." He shrugged and took a sip from what appeared to be coffee-flavored milk. "Never been able to drink a cup without plenty of cream or sugar."

"I guess you never met my adjutant."

"Visha?" he asked. "Of course I remember her. She was loads of fun."

Sauer doing unspeakable things to coffee was his own business, but did he have to go there? She'd never wanted a reason to go looking for her Type 95. All the work that Tanya put into turning the other woman into a competent adult, and he was going to dismiss her as a fun time?

"Don't," she said, putting her hands up in front of her. "I don't need to know about you and her. Or any other woman, for that matter."

"Degurechaff, no," he said, leaning over and pushing her hands down. "You and the boss dismissed both of us to put your heads together one night and she - she always seemed so...normal. I figured she might want to talk to someone who wasn't a soldier's soldier, you know?"

"She had me."

Sauer gave a bark of laughter to that. "Please don't tell me you considered yourself the ordinary one of the group."

Tanya had to give a rueful smile to that. She could see how it may have been hard for Visha to complain about the battlefield to someone who belonged there less than she did.

"Anyway, we wandered around and made up stories about why we were there that sounded more heroic than politicians screwing up. Stupid stuff. Defeating evil wizards and whatever. And after that, whenever our superior officers decided they wanted to argue over the exact same map for two hours, we'd do the same thing. It was relaxing. Nothing to be jealous over."

_Jealous…? _Tanya thought. There went that damnable rumor about her romantic life popping up again.

"Don't get the wrong idea," she snapped.

Sauer lifted his cup and sighed into it. "I'm trying not to," he muttered.

The mild disgust that tinged his face at the thought could have come from a couple sources. As she doubted he held conservative views on the topic and it was hard to imagine Visha's participation as being the issue, that left her.

While she didn't flatter herself as ranking among the most singularly attractive members of the world's population, she hadn't realized her lack of excessive femininity was so repellent to the average man of the era. It wasn't a problem necessarily, though she did have to wonder about what it meant for her future. The Army might be the easiest place to make a home for herself after all.

"The reason I brought Serebryakov up is you obviously never tried the coffee she made," Tanya clarified.

"I did."

"And?"

"Without cream and sugar? It was bad also."

She was going to crack a tooth if she wasn't careful. The Type 95 wasn't enough for a philistine who couldn't appreciate the difference between brown acid mixed with water and a potable beverage.

"I'm surprised you're still working," Sauer said, motioning at her papers. "I finished with everything I could think of yesterday by lunch. I'd already marked all the projects you'd been assigned as completed. Didn't think to ask."

"They are," she replied. "This is something I'm doing on my own. It's why I wanted you to come in. You're more familiar with what the Army was like before the war."

"Not really," he said, shaking his head. "I had barely more than a year between being commissioned and the first operation in Norden."

"Still," she said, launching into a brief explanation of the gist of her thought process.

An army was always going to require the support of a substantial number of administrative and technical specialists. With the exception of a Battle of Berun, many of them would never be expected to participate directly in combat. That being the case, she had to wonder how much use it was to have them trained for it at all.

Lieutenant Sauer proved to be surprisingly stubborn at making what amounted to the same objection ten separate ways. Namely, that there was a mysterious and unquantifiable difference between a civilian and a military professional doing the same job.

Discipline, sense of urgency, brotherhood, courage in the case they were placed near active fighting, it all boiled down to the same argument. It wasn't that Tanya was skeptical the Army could instill those qualities, simply that they couldn't be sufficiently replicated outside of it by the right reward-punishment system, at least in the context of an administrative role. _Sufficiently_, because automatic obedience to authority wasn't a trait anyone in this era needed to acquire unless it was absolutely necessary.

It was time to try a new tactic. If she couldn't out-argue Sauer, she had no chance of convincing anyone else.

Among the other illiberal workings of the armed forces was the concept of a minimum enlistment period, currently set by outside powers at ten years. Insulating a technical role from the free flow of labor limited how much of the general population could or would want to gain the relevant skill. In the event the Army had a sudden requirement for three times the number of specialists, they had to hope they picked fast learners.

"Like a reserve force," Sauer said, finally arriving at a breakthrough.

Not the way she would have put it, though that may have been a function of her extensive work experience outside the military. Given that the men she worked with didn't have the same, the expression might serve as a useful shortcut in future discussions.

"One more question before you go," Tanya said, after her guest had finished his cup of coffee and retrieved her unwanted one. "Who does your tailoring?"

The inquiry wasn't as strange as it sounded to the modern ear. Owning enough outfits to pack a closet full was reserved for the aspiring and wealthy, which made having a good seamstress on call more of a priority. The one she used to employ had disappeared sometime around the end of the war, never to be heard from again.

Regardless of Sauer's other flaws, he took care with his appearance and she could trust him to make a good recommendation. Though, the reason she was asking him had less to do with that and more to do with convenience. She'd rather recently pieced together that they lived in the same general area.

"Here," he said, scrawling out a name and address on a scrap of paper before making an abrupt departure that left her thanking empty air.

Her coworkers likely took her choice of pants over skirt to be more of a statement than she meant it to be. Truth be told, feeling comfortable was less of an issue than feeling professional. To do her best work she needed to feel professional, which meant dressing the part, and no amount of awareness that her clothing options had expanded had been enough to internalize the notion. Had her old company requested she loosen up and start wearing jeans to work, she doubted her reaction would have been much different.

That being said, she was beginning to think she'd feel more professional in a skirt if her slacks weren't going to fit properly. As she had yet to find an all-purpose, business-appropriate pair in the women's department, she was stuck with the young men's section. That had been fine up until the delineation between a boy's figure and a boyish figure had grown more pronounced. She was hoping a competent seamstress could fix the suddenly malproportioned waist-hip-leg ratios so that fashion woes didn't drag on her concentration.

_On that topic, _she thought, turning her eyes back to mess on her desk. At the least she could throw something presentable together out of it.

Unfortunately, she was still a day or two away from a marketable strategy by the time the end of the week rolled around. She couldn't just blow off her meeting with General von Romel like he was any old coworker, so she reluctantly dragged her focus away from what she was typing to do a perfunctory sit-down. Luckily for her, the friendly chats didn't have a tendency to last long.

To her surprise, Romel seemed to have an inkling of what she was working on, the first words after he greeted her being to ask if she had any unorthodox ideas to share. She'd have to remember Sauer was not only sociable, but an incorrigible gossip.

She hesitated to answer for what ended up being an uncomfortable length of time. How she was going to present her presentation had been a concern she was saving until she saw the final product. The man responsible for leading the armed forces wasn't likely to be the most receptive audience for why grandiose dreams about a million-man standing army should remain dreams.

Well, she'd faced down worse. It was better to come clean and control the messaging than let him think she was going to stab him in the back.

"I'm wondering if this'll be a bit too unorthodox for you," she admitted, straightening up in her chair.

"Try me," Romel grinned. "What's on your mind?"

Either she had a nasty surprise waiting for her in the future or the smile was a genuine openness to new ideas. In both cases, she'd only help her cause by pitching the softball version of why this would be good for her client. It was a bit out of her wheelhouse, in all honesty. Most of her career she'd been in a position of telling departmental execs what they needed to do, not convincing them why they should agree.

She cleared her throat and took a deep breath. At worst, she'd only be fired and blacklisted from anywhere Romel held influence. She'd heard the Red Women and Girls' League had some openings in their administration.

"I've been thinking about the future shape of the military," she began. "How it might grow under a different paradigm than we're accustomed to."

"You're thinking about the growth of a military that can't grow?"

The skeptical tone asking why she was wasting his time with what happened after his tenure was over when he had pressing matters to attend to was an endemic dilemma for a company operating above capacity. It could be hard to get a manager to stop concentrating on the symptoms and treat the disease when taking the time to address structural concerns meant letting the symptoms wreak havoc in the interim.

"Right," she agreed. "Of course, legally, you're hemmed in, which I appreciate. But that's a bit besides the point, which is taking a fresh look things. Not what our strength is now or what it could be tomorrow, but how we define strength."

"I have a feeling I should categorically refuse to hear you out," he sighed, leaning forwards and steepling his fingers in front of his face. "But let's have it."

A meeting with the CEO about why the entire business model was flawed had been a bit above her pay grade. She imagined the scene was similar, the pained look of knowing it was your duty to listen to advice you didn't want to hear.

"Respectfully, I often get the sense that we're thinking about what constitutes a military the wrong way. The size of the official enrollment number is often treated as an end in itself, when in reality it's a means to an end." She sat up taller in her chair after noticing she'd sunk down. Flying in the face of all previous authorities on managing national defense took a lot out of you. "What we should look at is where there might be another means to the same goal that doesn't require a permanent inflation of your payroll."

"Private industry," Romel said, giving her a single nod. Getting on the same page so quickly was a welcome surprise. "You aren't the first to mention the possibility. I don't see it working out, there's a difference between how military and civilian personnel are treated-"

"Think of it like building a reserve force," she suggested, interrupting before she could catch herself. "In a way."

He paused and stared at her, then gave a long sigh, evidently having a hard time processing that she'd had the nerve to interject in the middle of his sentence.

"I got that part," he continued. "And even were I interested in trying to get a program of less restrictive hiring started, which I'm not saying I am, civilians employed by the Army are capped at the number we had before the war. I can't dismiss from here to start hiring over there."

There was a certain irony to the world's bastions of capitalism stymying her attempts at promoting capitalism that didn't go lost on her.

The real issue would be Romel himself. Given his lack of enthusiasm for opening his world to civilians it may have been a lost cause, but if her life in the Empire had taught her one thing, it was how to avoid admitting defeat for as long as possible.

"Ultimately, the aim would be to hire companies, not individuals," Tanya clarified. "That way, the administrative details never need to cross your desk."

A side-effect of the command and control mentality meant that the Army hired any civilian support staff directly. It also meant that there was a loophole where the budget itself wasn't restricted, only the number of people being paid. Whether that was a legal person or a natural person nobody had bothered to define.

The larger hurdle would be in convincing a man with thirty-odd years of service under his belt that his institution didn't own the rights to effective teamwork. To that end, she spent a few minutes reassuring him that having a middleman didn't mean he couldn't set standards for how the companies operated, though the usefulness of having accountants able to snap to attention was highly debatable. With the glut of former service members, it wasn't an issue he needed to worry about for the time being anyway.

"I wouldn't want anything suspicious in the budget," Romel countered.

She couldn't help a short huff of laughter from escaping her throat. First, that Romel was so concerned with maintaining his public image that the mere shadow of illegitimacy was enough to derail an innocuous realignment. Second, at his naive conviction that some underpaid bureaucrats armed with pencil and paper were equal to the task of auditing a government budget. Oh, to have her innocence back.

Romel seemed mildly curious when she mentioned as much in response to his question of what was so funny, even going so far as to inquire how easily funds could disappear, in case he ever took an interest in doing something about it. She wouldn't want to be the bureaucrat there when the highest-ranked general in the Army demanded you show him your books.

"Well, since you're so passionate about it, if you'd like to write up a list of what positions we could explain filling as non-military, I'll hold onto it for reference," Romel grudgingly acceded. "But careful with the terminology you use. Please."

She'd admit she got carried away at a few points. It had been years since she'd been lent a willing ear to describe the pitfalls of line-item budgeting and what the alternatives were. She may have used some unpolitic language to describe other quarters of the government. Romel did have to work with those people.

At the end of the day, she didn't feel too guilty. Another citizen educated on the shortcomings of the public sector was never a bad thing. All in all, it was a successful end to her week.

xXx

It had been a busy fall for Erwin von Romel.

He returned from holiday to a mountain of paperwork. The Communist party led a failed uprising in Sachsony, tying up plenty of his time without requiring military intervention, which somehow made it worse. The ambassador from Dacia wanted to know if they'd sell old blueprints, which was a no. The commission for transitioning the Lowlands to independence wanted his opinion on their proposed military strength, which was depressing since it was larger than his own. His favorite aunt died.

Busy, busy, and busier, he shouldn't have been caught wasting his time adding more work to his plate, except he hadn't known when else he'd next get the chance to summon Degurechaff to his office while she wasn't under the influence of whatever drug Lehrgen was feeding to her that kept her so complacent.

The single most annoying trait of his newest general had to be that his view on what constituted military virtue tended to surface exclusively at the most inconvenient times possible. He didn't play the saint until he did, and when he did it was never when anyone else wanted him to, like when he turned out to be surprisingly effective at trimming the claws of the Empire's most vicious predator.

Lehrgen should try out Romel's method for a change. Virtuous but very willing to listen to an argument of why he shouldn't be. In the interest of a balanced worldview, Degurechaff was supposed to be the one giving him those reasons. Everyone needed a devil on their shoulder.

For the first time in his memory, he'd seen her nervous. She, a major, had repudiated him, a lieutenant general, to his face the first time they'd met. It was a bit cute. The nervous part, not the having his judgement questioned by a twelve-year-old part.

It hadn't taken long to see the reason behind the anxiety. She had come to discuss a gross violation of the law.

Romel had been worried over nothing. Lehrgen hadn't gotten the upper hand yet. She'd learned to retract the claws when not in use, but they were as sharp as ever.

The idea of using a private company as a convenient structure to pay a literal company of soldiers wasn't exactly an original one. What none of them could figure their way around was how to explain that if the wrong eyes got a look at the budget. And wouldn't you know, according to Degurechaff they were only a corrupt and or friendly Minister of the Interior away from doing precisely whatever the hell they wanted without much traceability. All they were missing was an off-the-radar place to stash equipment, and you'd never know they'd lost a war.

What was a zero-based budgeting system? His eyes had glazed over somewhere in there, so he couldn't tell you. But he knew someone who could, along with every conceivable way a pfennig of tax money could disappear. It was scary how Degurechaff got when she put her mind to something.

He'd thought about calling Zettour. Then he'd thought better of it. The old bosses had taken it as a personal affront that they'd lost the first and only world war. He wasn't in the mood to argue about why he didn't want his legacy to be _Siphoned Off Money For Schoolchildren To Fund Massive Illegal Army. _He'd run a little experiment using his own budget just to see how it worked. There was never a thing as too many options, and Degurechaff had done her duty in showing him what they were. That was all. There were days it was nice to feel like he wouldn't be saddled with his sorry lot forever.

When her report on which jobs they could play around with had shown up on his desk this morning, he'd flipped through to make sure there were no repeats of calling a spade a spade. Thankfully, the term "reserve force" hadn't made it into the document anywhere. He'd locked the thing up anyway. It would be admissible in court as a reason to declare her not of sound mind. She'd gotten carried away with her disguise. Selling an army off piecemeal like that sounded like an idea from a universe that had confused profiteering with patriotism.

xXx

After she'd had a weekend to rest, Tanya's next challenge came in the form of General von Lehrgen. Passing a report up the ladder and over his head would do her no favors.

She wasn't really looking forward to another hour spent debating the topic when the final boss had given her preliminary consent to move forward with it. Lehrgen had a softer touch, but in some ways he was a tougher opponent.

She had no illusions that the most ambitious version of her proposal would be met with a round of applause. It wasn't meant to be. Putting the more far-reaching changes on the table served to make the minor ones reasonable by comparison. And who knew? Maybe one day someone would take the entire document seriously, though she doubted it. Twenty-first century politicians who otherwise extolled the virtues of the free market had generally remained silent on the subject of the defense-spending sacred cow.

She cracked her neck twice, once on each side, and pushed open the door to Lehrgen's office.

"Get up to anything while I was gone?" he asked, as soon as she'd had the chance to sit down.

"Yes, actually." She took the folio out from her bag and tossed it on the table between them. If her boss wasn't going to waste any time bragging about his vacation, she wasn't going to waste any pretending to care. "I don't mind waiting while you look it over."

In the interim, she picked up a copy of the weekly Army gazette to browse. She was pulled from breaking her personal eye-roll record fifteen minutes later by the sound of her name. There was no need to look up to know she'd see a frown. Lehrgen's tendency to hang on to the middle syllable was more pronounced the more questions she had to answer. The reaction was in line with her expectations for the initial reception of a paper explaining why bigger wasn't always better.

"I see you think our soldiers spend too little time being soldiers," she heard, as she was putting the magazine back down.

"Only pointing out that when we have the opportunity to grow, we shouldn't lose sight of the Army's basic focus," she countered. "A soldier's core function is as an agent of violence."

"That's one way of putting it."

A simple change of terminology could be surprisingly effective in making a convincing argument. Asking how many people they needed "defending the nation" might have a more pleasant ring to it, but speaking in euphemisms hid the ugly truth. Phrasing it in starker terms got to the root of the question faster - how many people prepared to kill at a moment's notice did a peaceful country require to remain at peace?

"Well, if you look at it that way, you'll see there's opportunities to move certain support functions to a third party, which will give us more hiring flexibility," she explained.

For her trouble, she received a crease brow in response.

"So we gain flexibility at the expense of a smaller Army? I'm...forgive me, but I'm confused on where you're going with this."

She winced at the suspicious tone. He'd hit the nail bluntly on the head. So much for hoping the logical approach of cost-consciousness would find broad appeal among the leadership of what was formerly Europa's largest army.

"I'd call it more responsive to the needs of the moment," she said, still dimly hopeful she could get him on her side. "I hear you on the phone over budgetary matters all the time. I was only trying to help."

"That's...nice of you," he grumbled, in a clear struggle to find a way to compliment her for making what he considered an enormous mistake and settling on the most meaningless word available. His demeanor visibly reset itself towards conciliation. "No harm in another perspective. So long as you stay on this sort of track with work, I'll do my best as support."

"I'm still not sure it's where my true calling lies," Tanya deflected. There was no rush to provide a definitive answer to whether she could see herself as a proper General Staff officer.

"I know," Lehrgen sighed. "But for what it's worth."

"One last thing before we move on," she said. If they were going to discuss her future, she'd thrown in a handy tidbit. "On page seven, I put a recommendation for a permanent advisory board of industry experts. I'd discussed the other ideas with Romel before I wasted time typing it up, but if you don't mind giving this one some attention?

Getting interviewers to come to you was a far more efficient method of job hunting than the other way around. It was a long shot to think she'd be invited to sit in on the meetings, but there was always a chance run-in.

"I'll see where I can get with it," Lehrgen promised.

She wasn't against a little positive reinforcement when it was deserved. One good deed for another.

"How was your vacation?" Tanya asked, leaning her chin to rest on one of her hands.

"Good. Thanks for asking. Restful. I slept until eight-thirty. Twice."

She didn't have to fake her laughter at that summation. The discreet gloating session she'd volunteered for had turned into something else entirely. It was both a terribly nondescript review and exactly the type of reply she used to give inquiring coworkers.

"What _is _this world coming to?" she joked.

"And now I get to turn around and take another train ride to the Ruhr," he said. "You ready to leave Thursday?"

Scoring a guided visit to the industrial heartland had been another recent coup. Although the arms trade wasn't her first choice of employment, it was a choice. Morality aside, were her country's course to take a turn for the familiar, she wouldn't want her signature authorizing the turning of the Imperial war engine. Still, it wasn't a bad introduction to make.

"Will we have any time to see the city?" she asked, curious. The irony of her life as a mage was that she'd seen the majority of Europa from the air, and almost none of it from the ground.

"Essin? It's industrial, so don't expect too much, but we'll have some of Saturday free. I was going to head over to Dortemund. The same train comes through on the way to Berun."

She was happy to trust Lehrgen's judgment on tourist destinations. For once, it was nice to feel like the burden of planning a logical itinerary didn't fall on her. During her college years, her own diligence had been the only reason group outings didn't begin with arriving then wasting half a day deciding what to do.

"Do you mind if I tag along?"

"If you showed up at lunch, I have a feeling I wouldn't get much catching up done," he said, shaking his head. "My mother grew up there. I haven't seen those cousins since before I went to Londinium, so twelve years, give or take. Seemed rude not to mention I'd be in the area."

"Oh. Sorry," Tanya apologized. "The thought hadn't occurred to me."

In both her lifetimes, the general rule seemed to be that failing to make brief contact with long-lost friends or relatives when you got within a certain physical distance of them was something of a slight, no matter how long ago the relationship had atrophied. Personally, she found the opposite to be true. Combining trips for convenience was one thing; adding someone as an afterthought to a trip you'd already planned was another.

A touch of pity for having the courage to avoid over-indulging in nostalgia crossed her boss's gaze. "I'm sure one of them knows what Essin has to offer," he said. "I'll get some recommendations for you."

As promised, she was handed the local short-list upon arrival to the train station, and a few hours later the title-holder for her least-scenic field trip no longer belonged to the fourth-grade class visit to Tokyo's largest recycling center.

By and large, the immense complex was no longer equipped to build armaments. Like any good capitalist, the owner had followed where the market led and refocused on consumer goods. Currently, the paltry handful of machines dedicated to less-economically friendly pursuits weren't in operation, meaning that the building was functioning as a storage shed for spare parts.

Along one wall ran a display of former alumni, model-sized figurines giving a visual history of heavy arms culminating in a full-sized replica of their latest howitzer.

Tanya reached out to lay her hand on the cold metal. She hadn't had the chance to get up close and personal with her battlefield Lord and Savior in some time. If she just closed her eyes she could-

"Degurechaff," rang sharply through the air moments later.

She retracted her hand with a smile of apology. With Lehrgen occupied by some initial formalities, she'd wandered off on her own.

"I'm only here rounding out my education," he continued. "The active parts of the plant might be more interesting. I'm sure someone could take you around."

Much as she didn't like being treated as the child sent off to playtime because she couldn't keep her hands off the museum pieces, she happily allowed a volunteer to lead her away. What could she say? The durable goods sector suited her tastes better.

The company covered it well, but after a behind-the-scenes glimpse she could see they weren't making the profits they were used to. In fact, they may not have been making a profit at all.

For all the famed efficiency of Imperial factories, it was clear they hadn't quite figured out how to operate when products weren't flying off the shelves. If there was one thing she didn't want, it was rich industrialists joining hands with a political party promising to protect their interests by bringing an old cash cow back into vogue.

"Could I get your contact information?" Tanya asked her docent, sensing it was nearing end-of-day by the increasing frequency of glances at the clock.

With a nod, the nearest clerk was promptly located for pen and paper.

"I need some time, but I'll put a few suggestions together," she said, after she'd gotten her first legitimate corporate contact that was all her own. She couldn't regurgitate her education on process management at the drop of a hat, especially since she'd be adapting it from the service sector. With enough weekends, she was sure she could kick the dust off that part of her memories.

"If...if you'd like…"

She wasn't going to let a _none of your business _attitude dissuade her. A peaceful future was very much her business.

"Our country needs companies like this if we're going to fight our way back to our old selves," she said, letting her praise lean on the pride the man no doubt felt as a worker in the country's economic backbone. "I'd be honored to contribute what I can."

"I wouldn't want to take you away from your work."

"My work is to serve the Fatherland," Tanya said, falling back on a patriotic standby to allay an employer's natural wariness over someone pursuing hobbies on company time.

"I'm glad you're on our side," he said, reaching out to pat her shoulder.

She appreciated the sentiment, even if she didn't agree. She'd much rather have been born in the States.

"Where's dinner?" Tanya asked, after she'd rendezvoused with the rest of her party.

"Nothing fancy," Lehrgen said. "A really classic Imperial place."

The news punctured a hole in her high. Standard work-trip etiquette was to partake in group meals, leaving her no graceful way to bow out. Call her crazy, but at times like this, she sometimes wondered if her boss had it out for her.

xXx

_Hahh, _Erich von Lehrgen sighed, settling into his seat across from his adjutant after finding the right compartment of the train. There were reasons he hadn't seen his mother's cousins in over a decade.

He gave himself a moment of respite and then called the third member of their group away from staring out the window.

"I got a notice this morning," he said. He pulled out a cigarette to light, then gave one to Ernst as well when he motioned for it. "Serebryakov is up for release. I put in a request to be the attending officer so you can be there as well."

"Thanks. I do appreciate it, sir," Tanya said quietly, actually looking mildly touched by the gesture, the slight smile on her face one with real warmth behind it.

"Don't mention it," he muttered.

It was a glimpse into the rarest side of Tanya. When she was what a person was supposed to be. Whether that was an act or accidental was the question he asked himself every day.

"When is it?"

"November 11th."

"How ironic," she scoffed.

Before he could ask where the irony was, Ernst had reached under his seat and pulled out three brown bottles. One was tossed across the aisle to Lehrgen, another passed to Tanya.

"Then we have a reason for a drink," his adjutant cheered, a familiar bottle-opener coming out next.

"I've never seen a horn like this," Tanya said, dangling it on her finger in the golden beam of sunset light streaming through the window while she inspected. "Where'd you get it?"

"Birthday present," Ernst said. "From-"

Temporarily distracted, Tanya didn't catch the desperate hand Lehrgen drew across his throat. In his list of souvenir recipients, he'd forgotten her. He should've picked up chocolates at the train station before he left.

Worse, he'd made no acknowledgement of her birthday. He didn't need to give her reason to go asking around why Ernst got a present and she didn't. Next year, he'd rectify the mistake.

"-from my girlfriend," Ernst continued, eyebrows dancing so suggestively Lehrgen had to take a sip of beer to prevent himself from bursting with laughter.

"Which one?" Tanya asked, handing the item back to its owner.

"The one I spend the most time with."

"What's so special about that one?"

"Let's see," Ernst said, raising a hand to tick a list off his fingers. "She's always telling me what to do. She refuses to wear makeup. She can be pretty judgmental about how I spend my money. And she doesn't like having fun as much as she used to."

"Sauer, you don't have a girlfriend," Tanya sniggered, as Lehrgen crossed his arms and nodded along, _you tell him_ echoing through his mind. Of the two of them, it was plain to see Ernst was the girlfriend of their relationship. "You have a wife."

In all probability, he and Ernst were choking on their drinks for different reasons. One out of humor and one not so much.

_Why am I getting her a present again?_


	22. Dead Chap 1

.

VERY IMPORTANT NOTE - THIS IS A DEAD CHAPTER. FFNet, apparently, counts deleting a chapter as an "update" and I don't want to trigger a story update until I actually update with a new chapter, so please skip on ahead to the next one.

Thanks for suffering through my re-write process :)


	23. Keeping Up with the Kaltenbrunners

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**July 16, 1929**

**Bremmen, Free Imperial Hannseatic City**

_I should stop taking things for granted,_ Tanya resolved to herself, kicking at the covers for what felt like the fiftieth time that night. She turned her pillow over again, rolling to her other side and then dragging herself to the other edge of the bed, which hadn't yet been warmed by her body heat.

Well, never taking anything for granted again is probably a little too ambitious. Humans are designed to adapt to their environment, after all, so it's only natural to consider something a given if it's always there. I mean, it's not my fault that I never foresaw living a hundred years in the past, right? It's not like any of my plans included moving outside of a major city, or even out of a modern apartment. At most I was looking forward to having a house - newly built and full of the latest technology. That's not exactly the type of life where you expect to be giving up air conditioning.

There's plenty of other things to complain about - no computers, no cellphones, no Internet, no GPS. A home refrigerator is considered extravagant. No microwaves. The Dacian Army was defeated more quickly and easily than a single load of laundry. The list is practically endless, but it doesn't bother you so much as you expect for the most part, at least after a while.

When it comes to basic comfort, adapting is a whole other story. Kids basically fall asleep without a problem, and after I joined the army, I didn't have the luxury of being picky over the temperature. I was happy if I got a real bed. When you haven't had a full night's sleep in too many days to count, you're out as soon as your head finds a place to rest. Of course, I'm not saying I'd rather go back to _those _days just so I don't have trouble falling asleep on a hot summer's night. I'll take a little tossing and turning over being woken up to the sound of gunfire any day. I shouldn't forget that the tranquility of my recent life is also something I should be thankful for.

With a huff, Tanya rolled onto her back and splayed her limbs out, a futile attempt to dispel the heat that she'd tried multiple times over the course of the night to no avail. Stretching out on a bed larger than the one in her own apartment, another thought occurred to her. _Maybe I shouldn't take Ugar's offer for granted either._

You don't come by chances to live rent free every day. As far as a peaceful, easy life goes, it's hard to beat. Especially with the promise of a future career, it's not something I should write off so quickly. As of right now, I have no real attachments in Berun, so there's nothing keeping me there. Though I'm inclined to believe that even if I turn Ugar down now, I'm sure in a few years I could revisit the topic with him. If that's the case, the risk of upending my life for the unknown and giving up my privacy to come live in a house full of other people is too much for the expected reward.

In any event, I'd prefer a more cerebral position, like one in finance or law, so it's not like I'm turning down my dream job. As long as it pays well I'm not averse to most forms of employment, I wasn't what anyone would call passionate about my work in HR, but there's no sense in closing off future career paths and settling when you're sixteen.

Closing her eyes again and berating herself for ruminating pointlessly when she should be catching up on years of missed sleep instead, one last consideration drifted through her mind: when Visha returned, she'd be in Berun. If Tanya stayed in Berun, drinking Visha's coffee would be as easy as going to visit her. If she moved up to Bremmen, it's place in her life would be relegated to special occasions only. She could survive without it, but why do that to herself?

When she woke up and headed downstairs the next morning, she was determined to spend another day helping Ugar oversee his business affairs. She wouldn't want him to think she wasn't interested in working with him in the future just because she'd said no to it for now.

_No, I definitely could never live with the Ugar family, _Tanya thought to herself, two hours later, placing yet another bag in the trunk of the car before she climbed in to drive to yet another store. Ugar wouldn't hear of her spending another minute in an office, insisting that the ladies should all have a day to get to know each other better. After seeing the sad state of affairs in regards to the clothing that Tanya had brought with her, Frau Ugar had decided that a ladies' day meant a shopping day.

_Maybe I should stop using up my vacation time to visit friends, _Tanya groaned. She kept getting unavoidably roped into activities she detested.

_Well, I can't complain too much, _she reminded herself, as they finished their spending spree. The bags full of dresses and blouses and skirts were free, after all, and of very fine quality. For the most part they'd be stuffed in the back of her closet, but doubtless there would be an occasion in the future for which some might prove useful. It would save her the hassle of having to request help buying something again.

She probably wouldn't grow much taller, and unless she let herself go, she had no plans on growing any wider, so the clothes would likely fit for years to come, though they might require slight alterations down the line. She'd only brought a small piece of luggage along with her, so everything with the exception of her new bathing suit and towel was shipped to her office for her to pick up when she returned to Berun.

Mentally exhausted after going through her newest ordeal, Tanya fell into an untroubled sleep on the eve of her departure for her next destination.

**July 18, 1929**

**Hörnum Oststrand, Island of Sild, Imperial Province of Schleswich-Hallstein**

Tanya celebrated her sixteenth birthday by first going for a morning swim. It had been at least twenty years since she'd had her feet in the sand and the taste of salt on her lips. Vacations from Tokyo had usually involved hot springs or new cities, not baking under the sun, so in the years just prior to her early demise she hadn't visited any of Japan's beaches. Nevertheless, she did like them. Like most everyone, she found an innate sense of joy being in or near the water, especially on a warm and sunny day.

The beach was like nothing she'd ever seen before. It stretched on for kilometers, well beyond the limits of her eyes' ability to see. The sand was white and pristine, uninterrupted save for the small beach chairs dotting the landscape. The green of the grasses behind her and the blue of the water provided a neat visual contrast. The sky had a line of thin clouds spanning its length, but they did nothing to block the sun's rays from reaching below, and held no threat of rain. A strong sun warmed the air, but a slight wind coming off the sea cooled it back to a comfortable temperature.

Part of her military training had included swimming instruction, and even if it hadn't, humans are natural swimmers so long as they don't panic, so she was unafraid to wade out into the waves despite the fact that Tanya herself had never been submerged in anything more than a two-meter deep pool. The sea was bracingly chilly, even in the summer, but it was a temperature which she eventually adjusted to.

There were few others out so early, and no one was within her immediate vicinity, so she happily swam around for a half-hour before deciding she'd had enough and was ready to settle into her chair for the remainder of the day. She covered herself up with a loose dress and then a towel over it, not out of any particular sense of modesty, but due to her fair complexion. The chair came with a built-in canopy, charmingly striped in white and blue, so her face and a portion of her upper body was shaded, but as sunscreen had yet to be invented, clothing was the only protection she could give the remainder of her skin.

She'd brought along a basket full of sufficient water and snacks to see her through most of the afternoon. Drawing from it one of the Fitzgerald books she'd brought along, she cracked it open, enjoying the sensation of the crisp pages and the sharp sound the spine made as it bent, the book's first owner making her presence felt. In her whole life so far as Tanya, she'd come to realize, she'd never owned a new book. She'd almost forgotten how it felt to turn pages not yet worn by another hand.

Her literature of choice might not have been a beach read, per se, but it was still an easily digestible novel. While she maintained fluency in the language, prose was an altogether different sort of writing than the news reporting she'd been reading the past few years, so she had to read slowly for the first few minutes, until the English – excuse her, Albionian – flowed naturally.

She supposed she should finally get around to learning Françoise with more fluency as well. The language still carried a certain cachet, and likely would for the remainder of her natural life, which she was determined to live to see the end of. So long as she kept herself healthy, she saw no reason she shouldn't have at least seventy more years ahead of her. Mages healed well and were less susceptible to illness than the average person, so she could even hold onto the belief that she'd be in good health for the vast majority of that time, instead of creeping into old age pained and infirm the way most people did.

_Ahhh, _she thought, taking a break from reading to watch the waves for a few minutes, _I finally feel civilized again_. She'd taken a few days off work previously, but this was the first time she truly felt like she was on vacation. Even she needed a break once in a while to keep her mind healthy and productive.

It had been more than six months now that she'd been able to keep a regular sleep schedule, eat a predictable and healthy diet, and avail herself of her bathtub on a nightly basis. It had taken many weeks before the reality of it sank in, that her life was finally what one might call normal again, if you excused the fact that she was a sixteen-year-old German girl with roughly thirty-four years worth of memories of being a Japanese man.

When it came time for dinner, Tanya didn't hold back. She prudently saved as much income as she could, but there was no point in having money if she was never going to use it for anything. She treated herself to an impressively large plate of freshly-caught shrimp in a light butter and lemon sauce, followed by as much chocolate cake as her stomach could hold.

She was aware some people would find it sad to dine by themselves on their birthday, not a candle in sight, but privately she felt the third slice of cake she was placing on her plate was of more value to her than the presence of another person. Truthfully, she couldn't have asked for more.

**July 20, 1929**

****Café** Bauer, Imperial Capital Berun**

"An _Einspänner c_offee for you, sir."

"And madame, your _Weaner Melange_ and _Punschkrapfen_."

The potent aroma of coffee mixed with faint hints of chocolate and other pastries permeated the air of Berun's finest Wean-style coffeehouse. It was a pleasant enough place to pass a few hours for those who had that kind of time to spare. The heavy drapes and cushioned chairs soaked up most of the sound, leaving only a backdrop of white noise. A low hum of quiet chatter, the faint clank of porcelain, the rustle of newspapers as their pages turned.

"And for you..." the waiter paused, examining his patron's uniform. His eyes widened and he straightened up smartly a second later. "...General?"

The man in question puffed at his cigarette instead of sighing like he wanted to. He'd had a glimmer of hope that he wouldn't get that reaction. Few enough able-bodied men had escaped serving in the war, and as soon as they registered his rank insignia they tended to revert to a stiff formality even now. Relaxing and enjoying his free time became difficult when he had to behave as though he was always at work. He'd known that was what he was signing up for when he'd decided to make a career out of being an officer, but there were days he wondered what it would be like to just be Erich.

In any case, if he'd chosen a different job, he was completely certain he would not be in this café trying to buy a damned present for Tanya Degurechaff. Maybe he'd never have even met her. Lehrgen eyed the waiter jealously for living a life free of her influence. He'd put off buying something, but she was returning to work on Monday, so he was fast running out of time.

Tanya herself was the primary source of his procrastination. Fundamentally, she wasn't a gracious person. Gifting her a meaningless trinket in recognition of her birthday was more likely to make her angry over the waste than thankful that someone had at least thought of her. So if he was going to buy her something, it had to be something good.

This begged the question of why he was buying her anything at all. He had no expectation of her returning the favor. He didn't like her all that much, though he didn't mind her so much as he used to. If it weren't for her inconvenient misconception that the two of them were friends, he would be under no obligation to get her anything. But in two months, when his adjutant's birthday came around and Tanya saw that Lehrgen had bought the young man something small - a pack of cigarettes or the like - she might question why she'd been passed over. And if he gave her cause to start asking around about how Lehrgen felt about her and learned the truth, well - he'd just say there might be consequences, and he doubted they'd be good for him.

He was left with no choice but to get her a present, and a half-decent one at that. Surprisingly, off the top of his head Lehrgen could think of a number of things Degurechaff liked besides coffee, but as it was neither in his power nor his interest to gift her a new war, she'd have to make do with her favorite brand of beans instead.

Lehrgen cleared his throat to reply to the waiter in front of him. "I was interested in buying some of your coffee beans."

"...the beans, sir?"

"You're known for having some of the best coffee in the city. Surely part of that is the beans themselves?"

"Well, yes, but the preparation is-,"

"The person I'm buying for drinks her coffee black and strong. I think she'll appreciate the quality over anything else."

"She?" the waiter asked, a hint of a smile appearing on his face. "Is she a customer of ours, sir?"

"Yes," Lehrgen muttered, growing a bit irritated at the unnecessary question. "I'm told she comes here on certain Sunday afternoons, so the flavor must be to her liking."

The other man's eyebrows gave a quick jerk upwards, and he made a small exclamation of "ah, that one," under his breath, before going behind the counter to speak with a coworker, or perhaps his manager.

Lehrgen nearly gave a small smile in response to the waiter's recognition. His envy had been misplaced. The man did have the misfortune of knowing Tanya. Until recently, coffeehouses hadn't been the sorts of venues that were appropriate for women, and there were still relatively few of them who came alone to wile away a Sunday afternoon reading the paper. Fewer still who took their coffee the way Tanya did. It wasn't so surprising that she'd be a bit memorable to the staff. Lehrgen had never met someone so memorable in all his life, and hoped not to ever again.

After she'd been working for a few months, he'd subtly inquired with a few people over if they'd ever seen her outside of work, and what she might be doing. There was no telling what sort of trouble she was capable of getting up to in her free time. _Know your enemy _was just as applicable now as it ever was. Perhaps she wasn't strictly an enemy anymore, but there was still something to be said for ensuring that she wasn't prowling about inciting some of the violence he read about every week in the papers so that she could reminisce about her days on the front.

Not much had come out of the covert investigation, aside from the usual - she shopped for groceries, went to a laundromat, occasionally went for some exercise in a park. Her patronage of this establishment had been one of the items noted, so gathering the information hadn't been completely worthless.

Wondering what was taking so long, Lehrgen looked over at the two men behind the counter again, and caught them looking at him out of the corners of their eyes, gossiping animatedly. _Is it really that strange for someone to buy coffee beans instead of coffee? _Lehrgen wondered to himself. He'd expected it to be an unusual request, but not such a notable one.

A minute later, his waiter returned and gave an apologetic shrug. "We could sell you the beans, sir, but the coffee we serve is all a blend of several types. It wouldn't be the same."

Lehrgen's eyelids fluttered shut in annoyance. "Just give me the best one, then."

"Well, I don't know if there's one that's the best," the waiter began. "We have one from..."

Lehrgen drew in a long breath through his cigarette, resigning himself to listening to a lecture on the flavor profiles of every different coffee bean the shop had in stock. He liked coffee just fine, but he wasn't very particular about it. Some connoisseurs could go on and on though, the same way that a vintner could explain the uniqueness of every strain of grape and each bottle of wine.

"...you can taste a hint of chocolate-,"

"That one," Lehrgen interrupted. "A kilogram of it. Grind it and package it nicely, if you would." He didn't need the additional trouble of making his gift look presentable.

"Will that be all, sir?"

"I'll take a coffee while I wait. Cream, no sugar."

The waiter ducked his head deferentially and went to fulfill the request. A minute later, Lehrgen had his own cup in hand. _She doesn't have bad taste, _he thought, taking his first sip.

**July 21, 1929**

**Moabitte, Imperial Capital Berun**

_You know, some people actually have work in the morning, _was what Tanya would have screamed, if she had the same lack of respect for common decency that her next door neighbors did. A second later, she finally decided that a good pounding on the wall next to her was in order. Really, she'd needed the vacation from them more than anything. They'd moved in a few weeks ago, and she could hardly remember a day where her mind hadn't constructed an elaborate plot for revenge against their constant noise.

I swear, it's like they time their fights to coincide with me trying to fall asleep. I've learned to ignore most sounds after my time in the trenches, but it's hard to shut my ears each time the family beside me decides to air their dirty laundry. It's all stupid and pointless, but there's something irresistible about listening to it. If there was one thing about the past I didn't think I'd have to deal with, it was the existence of reality TV. I'd like it if my neighbors could respect my choice in not signing up for that in my cable package.

_Geri, don't look at my sister that way! _Tanya heard a shrill female voice shout through the wall, her desperate knock having failed to achieve the desired effect.

Whoever this Geri individual is, I'm glad I haven't met him yet. Despite being what society would define as an adult male, from what I can tell he has yet to learn the concept of boundaries and why they're important in a civilized world. I'd like for my first encounter with him not to end in my arrest for aggravated assault, but so far I'm not hopeful, and it's caused me to be unusually lax in confronting him about the trouble he's causing me. All I hear is _Geri this, Geri that, Geri, Geri Geri, _what mad genius of a TV executive overheard something similar and realized he could make money off this crap? I can only have respect for someone that's so devoted to making profits that they had the presence of mind to think "I can get rich off of them" instead of "I want to strangle them".

What Tanya couldn't understand was why this odious human life form was living next to her. From what she'd overheard so far, the only member of the household one apartment over who was employed was the unlucky sister who was the subject of Geri's interest, much to his wife's chagrin. What was preventing the sole income-earner from evicting people who did nothing but cause her trouble Tanya hadn't yet divined from the shouting matches. Family ties could only go so far. Husband, wife, and several children lived off of the wife's sister's money, most of which was earned in ways that Tanya tried not to think about. Or overhear, though there was only so much she could do about that.

I'm not one to judge how people choose to put food on the table. And if you're living for free in someone else's apartment, then it definitely isn't your right to complain about it either. If you don't like your sister's job, instead of fighting about it, why don't you try getting one yourself and becoming a functioning member of society? While you're at it, suggest to your husband that he does the same, so all of you can learn to go to bed at reasonable hours.

Tanya turned her pillow over her head and sighed, trying to concentrate on the sound of her breathing instead of the soap opera being acted out a few feet away from her.

The next morning, she walked into her office with a yawn and found a gift waiting for her. It was a nice gesture, and a welcome one at that exact moment, but if she could give her candid thoughts on the matter, Tanya hated the process of exchanging small presents with acquaintances. It was just one more thing to keep track of, and this one wasn't just a token. Lehrgen had gone out of his way to get her something personalized, and would expect her to do the same.

Before she left for the day, Tanya dropped in on the secretary that organized the personnel files.

"Mrs. Schuster?"

The grandmotherly figure looked up from what she was working on, pulling off her reading glasses as she did so.

"Could you get out General von Lehrgen's folder, please?"

"Now, I can't have you digging up information on your boss, young lady. You know that."

"I just need to know when his birthday is," Tanya objected.

"November 21st," came the prompt reply.

Tanya's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"And yours was three days ago," the older woman continued, winking at her with a smile. "I do hope it was a good time."

Tanya nodded.

"Well, not many people have been promoted so quickly as the dear General, and none as fast as you, so if I've looked at your files once in the past ten years, I've seen them a dozen times," she explained, to the question that must have been evident on Tanya's face.

She gave a nod of acknowledgement to the compliment, and a thanks for the information.

"Well, good luck with it," Mrs. Schuster told her with a gentle laugh, as she turned to leave.

_Is Lehrgen that picky about gifts? _she wondered._ Great. Just my luck._

**August 10, 1929**

**Moabitte, Imperial Capital Berun**

_That's it, I have to say something_, Tanya decided, closing the book she was reading and resolving to go confront the worst set of neighbors she hoped she'd ever have. The children had woken her up to the tune of persistent pot-banging. Determined to take advantage of her early morning, and wanting to escape the clanging noise that was beginning to give her a headache, instead of making herself coffee and breakfast at home, she'd pulled on her clothes and gone out to a local café that she'd been meaning to try.

Her neighborhood was not the chosen abode of Berun's wealthier residents, so there were no famous or fancy coffeehouses in the surrounding blocks; however, coffee didn't necessarily have to be expensive to be good. A few streets down there was a building known to be the address of a slew of aspiring young artists, and they took their coffee and their wine as seriously as their work, so Tanya had judged there to be a chance that the eclectic shop on its street level might serve up a decent brew.

Happily, her guess had been proved correct. The fellow denizens of the café had left something to be desired, but Tanya had ignored their political views, oddly trimmed facial hair, and chain-smoking, seating herself at a small table outdoors as soon as her coffee and eggs had been prepared, both exquisitely well done. She'd taken her time eating and savored her coffee slowly, even ordering herself a second cup, hoping that by the time she was back home, the children would be quiet.

To their credit, the children were silent when she arrived, but the adults weren't. She'd cracked open her Françoise book to study nonetheless, intent on not letting them ruin the practice she was putting into learning it.

_I shouldn't have passed up the deal on that record player, _she'd found herself thinking, as she tapped her pencil against her page. The person she'd taken over the lease to her apartment from had offered to let her have it, and at a good price, but as she didn't own any records, she'd told him to take it. Background music was practically invented for covering up random and unwanted noise. She considered turning on the radio, but that would've ended up serving as more of a distraction than anything.

Giving up after an hour, instead of the usual two she'd told herself she'd devote to her fourth language on the weekends, she'd headed off to acquire the food she'd need for the next few days. In a way, she appreciated the touch of individuality that came along with shopping at small markets, each devoted to a specific type of comestible, but under normal circumstances she would have gladly traded that for the convenience of a supermarket. Today, though, she didn't begrudge the extra time it took to visit each store. With each passing minute, the likelihood that her neighbors had suspended hostilities until further notice increased.

When she'd arrived back home, it was to her dismay that the number of voices had grown. It was like her neighbors had begun their own version of a world war, and were pulling more participants into the fight as they went. Tanya had turned on the radio on for a bit to have something better to listen to as she put her groceries away and began chopping vegetables, turning up the volume as loud as she could in an ultimately futile attempt to drown out the voices beyond the wall, as well as to provide a hint to her floor-mates that they were making a truly disturbing amount of noise.

She'd had to turn the radio off when she sat down to read the newspaper, meaningful reading difficult to do while there was talking in the background, but had thrown the paper aside after a few pages and gone to change clothes. She'd walked a lengthy distance to a park in another neighborhood, gone for a jog, lain in the grass and watched the clouds for a bit, and then trudged back home, fearing that as soon as she reached her floor, she'd hear raised voices, a fear which, it turned out, was completely justified.

Going for a run on a hot August day had had the predictable result of making her sweaty, so she'd run a cool bath for herself and soaked in it as long as she could stand, her bathroom a sole spot of refuge. Afterwards, she'd lain in her towel on her bed and opened a book to read as she dried off, the book which she'd so recently closed upon deciding she couldn't put up with the fighting any longer.

She'd avoided this day as long as possible, but for her own sanity she had to knock on the door to her right and tell the residents inside to very kindly _shut the fuck up. _It felt rude to intrude on their personal lives in such a way, but they were interfering with hers to a degree she could no longer put up with. She'd attempted to go through the proper channel and lodge her complaints with the landlord, but so far nothing had come of it.

By the time she'd gotten dressed and combed her hair, a great door slam and angry stomping of feet informed her that her enemies-of-the-moment had fled the scene of battle. _Great, _she groaned, _as soon as I decide to give them a piece of my mind, they leave. _A few minutes later, though, she heard a soft voice singing, and realized the apartment wasn't entirely empty. She took a deep breath, walked out, and rapped a few times on the door with an authority she didn't really feel.

A woman a few years older than her answered it, and Tanya guessed it was the younger sister who she was meeting. Perhaps she could tell by the look on Tanya's face that her neighbor wasn't there to share a batch of cookies, because the first words out of her mouth were an apology.

"Sorry," she groaned. "I wish I didn't have to live with him either."

"Then why do you?" Tanya snapped. "If you're paying the rent, go ahead and kick him out."

The woman gave a heavy sigh. "They're family. I can't just leave them out in the cold."

"Mine had no problem leaving me," Tanya muttered, still frowning.

The woman gave her a look of pity at that comment. Tanya hadn't intended to solicit it, only to mention that if a mother could abandon her infant child, surely no one would see anything wrong with a woman refusing to pay the living expenses for two unemployed adults and their multitude of children just because they shared some blood.

"I'm Elli," the woman said, sticking out her hand. Reluctantly, Tanya shook it.

"Tanya," she replied.

"Why don't you come in for a few minutes? We can drink some of my brother-in-law's beer," she smiled.

Tanya sighed but nodded. She didn't want to have an acrimonious relationship with her neighbors, so if she could calmly explain how bothersome their constant arguing was over a shared beer, maybe this could all end happily.

Once inside she sat down at their small table, trying to touch as little as possible. A layer of grime caked every surface she could see. She was handed a muffin along with her beer, which to her surprise was rather tasty when she bit into it.

"Sorry," Elli said again, as soon as she took the seat across from Tanya. "I'm sure you can hear just about everything we say in here."

"I can," Tanya confirmed.

"My sister can't work, and she has all these children," the other woman began. "Really, her husband - that's Gerold - he should have a job, but he's a total deadbeat. I've asked her to get rid of him a thousand times, but for some reason she still sees something in him. I doubt I'll ever know what."

"Can't you just tell your sister that either he goes, or they all do?" Tanya asked, uncomprehending why this woman would let everyone take advantage of her so easily. Why a wife would stay with her husband when he made constant passes at her younger sister was another open question. If people were willing to behave so irrationally for the sake of love, Tanya could only be glad that in her last life, she'd missed out on that chance to lose her self-respect..

"I tried, once," Elli said softly, "but she cried so much, and besides, if she moved out there would be no one to care for her. I can't stand her half the time but she's all I have, and I don't think she'd survive long without me."

Tanya heard a cough from one of the bedrooms and startled.

"That's her," Elli confirmed. "Consumption."

Tanya's chewing paused for a second as she glanced around to see if there was a napkin that she could spit her muffin into. She didn't find one, so decided that since she'd already eaten half of it, swallowing this bite wasn't going to make much of a difference. Immediately afterwards, she plunked both food and beer down on the table and stood up.

"I'm not sick," Elli protested. "Promise."

"No, I just remembered I'm supposed to meet someone for dinner," Tanya lied, turning to leave. "Good luck with...all this," she told her, motioning around the apartment.

Tanya washed her hands three times as soon as she was back in her apartment, gargled saltwater, then took a second bath, this one as hot as she could tolerate it. She scrubbed every centimeter of her skin pink and raw. The remainder of her day was spent scouring her apartment from floor to ceiling, and the hallway outside for good measure. She didn't think the disease was transmitted by touch anyway, but it made her feel better to act like she could do something to prevent it from spreading.

Besides that, her next order of business was to inform her landlord that as soon as he had an opening on another floor, that she'd like to move. She lived on the highest, and therefore cheapest, floor, but she had room in her budget for a slight increase in rent if it gave her silence and peace of mind.

—

"What has you looking so miserable?" General von Lehrgen asked, spotting the glum look on Degurechaff's face as he passed by her office on Monday.

"Overthinking things," she grumbled.

He raised an eyebrow. So far as he could tell, her mind was so powerful that from a normal perspective she overthought everything. He was a bit curious how she'd define the term. She rolled her eyes in response to his unspoken question, but continued talking.

"I was near someone who has consumption," she explained. "I didn't get too close to her, I know I probably don't have it, but it's not like there's antibiotics to treat it if I do."

Lehrgen couldn't stop a short laugh from escaping. That Tanya Degurechaff, of all people, was afraid of something as minor as being in the same general area as someone with the disease was something he couldn't help but find humorous.

She shot him an angry glare in response to the outburst.

"Sorry," he apologized. "It's just...you _are _overthinking it."

"My own mother died from it, you know."

_I never knew she cared enough to find that out, _Lehrgen thought. _Though perhaps it was nothing more than curiosity._

"I did know that," he confirmed. "I shouldn't have laughed."

"...you did?"

Lehrgen cleared his throat to give himself a second. Most of what he knew about Tanya hadn't come from her, but from the careful research he'd done into her background in search of an answer to what could make a person so disturbed that they felt that scalping someone was a punishment befitting minor insubordination. He'd have to be more careful not to slip up in the future. He had perfectly justifiable reasons, but as he couldn't exactly tell her why he knew so much about her past, in all probability it would come across as a bit weird.

"Schugel asked me to look into your parentage when I was in Personnel," he lied, groping for a response. Everyone knew Schugel was eccentric, so it wouldn't be out of character to claim he'd asked for an unusual favor. "Magic talent often runs in families, and he wanted to know if there was anyone else like you. It's odd, but neither of your parents had a drop of mana when they were examined."

Tanya gave a "hmph" to that but nothing further.

"Anyhow, since you are a mage, you're even less likely to catch anything than the rest of us. Stop worrying over it."

* * *

_A/N: Tanya interviews Lehrgen for My Strange Addiction and learns that she is the addiction. I could end this story real fast by having Tanya get inspired by her neighbors and decide that the easiest path to a good life is to produce and star in The Real Housewives of Berun. Also, __Tanya you wanted a normal life so you have to struggle with normal life in 1929 which means no A/C or antibiotics.  
_

_Ugh, sorry for skipping around so much this chapter, none of these things seemed like they deserved their own chapter [seriously this story will never end if I devote an entire chapter to Tanya not falling asleep or Lehrgen hanging out in cafes...] and they kinda went together so it became a deeply slice of life mish-mash.  
_

_It's time for me to say a big thank you again to all my readers, followers, and especially reviewers, as I realized I missed last week being the six-month mark for this story. Naively, I thought this fic would be 15-20 chapters of some outtakes on how everything leading up to Ch 1/2 happened, and it's all of you that have kept me going and made me want to flesh out the plot properly so it makes at least 50% sense and not rush through it (although in the last few chapters maybe it seemed a little too slow!)  
_

_Callout to all the consistent reviewers who have given me opinions that sparked ideas or let me bounce pieces of plot off of them. You are so valuable and I appreciate you taking time out of your day to message me. I will try to give you credit in the appropriate chapters :) Also thanks to all the people who left comments/follows/faves on Ch 1, I was kind of expecting to look at the reviews and be like 'ok, shh, pretend this never happened,' and never look at my account again, so I wouldn't have continued past that first post without your encouragement.  
_


	24. Did you see the memo about this?

.

**August 23, 1929**

**General Staff Office, Imperial Capital Berun**

There were exactly 1,643 doors in the General Staff Office of the Imperial German Army.

Behind many of them lay nothing more than empty rooms. Part of this was by design – the architects, awash in the funds that had in those days flowed freely towards any expenditure the army desired, had planned for every possible contingency – that the size of the staff would grow, that multiple foreign delegations would be received simultaneously, that a state banquet would be put on there instead of in one of the palaces, anything that had popped into the imagination had been added.

Improbably, they'd been prescient enough to foresee that the cooks who ran the now infamous dining room would occasionally serve the sort of poorly prepared food at lunch that would have every person in there running for the bathroom a few minutes later, necessitating an overabundance of stalls. There was even a room that every generation of officers prayed they never had to use. Built into the foundations, reinforced by layers of steel and concrete, the door to that room was impenetrable to anything besides heavy and sustained explosive force.

Most of the empty rooms, though, had been abandoned by their former occupants. Behind those doors lay nothing more than dust and the unfinished paperwork of former officers. Some industrious adjutant had gone through and removed all the essential documents, but the time and effort needed to organize and file the rest away was too onerous for the already overburdened men and women who remained. To pass through those thresholds was to step back in time, hopeful missives and plans never put to use still littering the desks, as though the war could still be won.

Some doors led to nothing more than closets or balconies, some through the endless archives housed on the basement level, some rooms had multiple sets of doors, mostly for show.

Some doors creaked, others groaned, a few had a tendency of getting stuck in their frames on a humid day. Most operated silent as a whisper, their loudest noise the thunk of heavy wood accompanied by the clack of metal as they latched shut. Regardless of their individuality, the people passing through them treated them all the same; in other words, they hardly noticed them. Too commonplace to warrant a thought in the busy minds rushing about, any flourishes that the woodworkers had added went unremarked upon.

Of all those 1,643 doors, General Erwin von Romel hated the set that led into his own office the most. How did he know there were 1,641 other doors that he didn't hate? Because his predecessor had obsessed pedantically over every last detail, and somewhere in the sheaves of notes Zettour had left for him that fact had been noted, as though it was in any way necessary for the Army's Chief of Staff to be aware of that piece of information.

The doors Romel glared at as though they'd personally offended him were not the subject of his ire because they were unpleasant to look at. In all likelihood, they were one of the finest sets in the whole building, well-made and meant to impress, with intricate details carved into the panels. Whoever was responsible for such trivialities as polishing the wood and oiling the hinges did their job so well that Romel had not a clue who it was, since he'd never had to call them to complain.

No matter how beautiful they were, it wasn't near enough to offset a simple and fundamental failing – General von Romel's doors did not perform the function for which doors were invented, namely, keeping people who he didn't want in the same room with him out. Worse than useless at their essential purpose, Romel had eventually grown to despise them, especially when he saw that they were in the process of opening.

The number of people who wielded enough influence to drop in on the country's highest-ranked military officer against his will without scheduling a time and date well in advance could be counted on one hand. In the back of his mind, Romel was aware that his doors themselves could not be blamed when they admitted the other parties to the meetings penciled in on the agenda his adjutant handed him each morning. It gave him a useful place to direct his resentment, though, concentrating it on an inanimate object instead of letting it poison the atmosphere with his guest. Or at least not poisoning it overmuch. He wouldn't want to give the wrong people the impression that they were truly welcome to impose on him.

The basic nature of the problem was that General von Romel could just barely tolerate a good number of the people who walked through those doors. The junior officers that came to discuss their work and make reports weren't part of the issue. Often, they were the highlight of his day. He'd had his arguments with some of them, shouted at them, occasionally given them permission to shout back at him. But they were military men, through and through, just like he was. They didn't complain about things they couldn't change, they didn't snivel or whine, and most importantly, they understood the limitations that Romel faced and didn't ask him to perform miracles.

It was when a politician came to intrude on him that he stared so balefully at the doors across from him. If there was a single one of them in the job to actually benefit the general populace and not just hear themselves talk, Romel hadn't yet met him. Or if it wasn't that, it was the owner of a major military supplier coming to tell him how much his company planned on raising prices next year. Worst of all was when it was one of the penny-pinchers responsible for keeping track of the nation's expenditures coming to harass him, like it was his fault that things cost money.

If Romel had wanted to be endlessly nagged at by multiple people for no reason, he would have found a way to marry more than one wife. At least then he could still go to work and be left in peace.

Few were those who had the power to summon Romel to attend them at their own place of business, so inevitably, it was almost always people walking into his office through the hated set of doors and not the other way around. That Romel didn't mind so much. Being the Chief of Staff didn't come without a few certain perks.

If he couldn't avoid meeting with politicians and their ilk, the least he could do was to force them into his own territory. Out of a deeply ingrained belief in maintaining every possible tactical advantage, anyone who wanted to meet with him that wasn't the President or the Chancellor of their government had to come to him.

This guaranteed several things, foremost among them that he could get rid of an unwanted interloper the second Romel felt they'd overstayed their frosty welcome. It was like these people thought Romel had all the time in the world to listen to them cry over how difficult their jobs were, or more specifically, how Romel himself was making their job more difficult.

If your deepest wish was to listen to grown men moan and wail about their problems, there was an obvious career path to a fulfilling life – and it wasn't joining the army. What Romel couldn't understand was how his guests had come to hold the belief that he was interested in helping them advance their careers. Honestly, he'd be more than happy to see a number of the politicians that came through voted out of office, so Romel was the last person they should expect to offer them a helping hand.

He didn't mind dispensing advice to his own men on personal matters, or working with them when they ran across difficulties. But anyone who came into his office to blab about how the whims of the voters were as inscrutable as their wishes were unfulfillable would hear only a single piece of wisdom: If it bothers you that much, find a different goddamned job.

_Maybe I should take my own advice, _Romel sighed to himself, pressing the button under his desk that summoned his adjutant, who would rush in claiming a made-up emergency that demanded Romel's immediate and undivided attention. He wouldn't mind giving his position up, if only he could trust that the person he handed it off to wouldn't make a colossal mess out of things, forcing him to return and fix it all over again.

His current visitor had gone off-track and begun complaining how if Romel couldn't lend him a few members of the _Reichswehr _to beef up police security at his next party event, the man was likely to never see his home or family again. Romel hadn't asked if that home had been built with money embezzled from public funds, or if the man's family hated him just as much as Romel himself did, since he'd already decided the answer to both was almost certainly yes, and Romel didn't believe in asking pointless questions. Truthfully, the decision to deny the man's request had been in the hands of a much lower ranked officer than Romel, but he'd have to commend the responsible individual. _Good riddance _was all he had to say to the person in front of him.

This one didn't know how to take no for an answer, so Romel was left with no choice but to use his fail-safe backup plan to rid himself of the nuisance. Promptly, his adjutant knocked and dear Herr Dietrich was escorted away.

Luckily, Romel had never had to use his last resort – the gun he kept in his top drawer. His job was a form of state-imposed punishment in and of itself, so it wasn't like imprisonment would make things much worse, if it even got to that point. There were a few choice members of the political field who Romel was entirely convinced he could shoot without bringing any lasting consequences on himself. So long as he didn't kill them, the minute they opened their mouths to make a statement the judge would throw out the case on the grounds that Romel had only been exercising every man's God-given right to defend his own sanity, and couldn't be faulted for it.

When little boys dream of leading armies, without exception they see themselves marching at the head of it, a future Alexander in the making. No one daydreams about sitting behind a desk signing papers from dawn til dusk. Romel's only calluses these days were from his favorite pen.

Technically, he'd been handed a nice promotion when Zettour had recommended him to fill the role of Chief of Staff, but Romel was unable to see being removed from training fields and locked up in an office as anything but a personal form of hell. He'd like to fully repent for all the times he'd called his superior officers incompetent and claimed he could do their jobs better. In most cases he could, but that was besides the point. All he'd been asking for was the freedom to make war as he saw fit, not to be handed an unending list of responsibilities.

Romel pulled at the collar of his uniform, the heat of an August late afternoon unchanged by the open windows. He had another appointment in a minute, or else he would have undone a few buttons, propriety be damned.

In the interim, he picked up the next item in his tray, read the cover page, and put it aside with a grunt of displeasure. He could look forward to another Friday afternoon being ruined by puzzling over the mechanical jargon their scientists used to confuse everyone and make themselves sound important. It was in regards to designing new armaments, so a live demonstration would be one thing, but did the engineers really need him to sign off on every minute detail and make his eyes swim with numbers? If he never saw another report on testing procedure specifications in his life, he'd have still seen too many.

Thankfully, his next visitor was one who he always looked forward to entertaining. He called his adjutant back in to have him prepare a cup of fresh coffee for her, and a few minutes later, at 4:15 and not a second more, in walked Tanya Degurechaff.

There was no real reason beyond personal admiration that Romel needed to meet with her every so often. His schedule was packed without adding extraneous demands on his time. The proper order of things would be to allow anything she had to say to come up through Lehrgen.

Romel like the younger man well enough. He was a reliable officer, perhaps one of the best in the General Staff. But if there was one thing you couldn't count on him for, it was objectivity where Degurechaff was concerned. Every so often, it behooved Romel to listen to her unfiltered opinion.

The day Lehrgen had hired her was indelibly etched into his memory. It wasn't every day such an exemplar officer came to him to confess they may have just made a huge mistake.

"General von Romel?" his adjutant had phoned in, near on a year ago now. "Brigadier General von Lehrgen for you, he says it's important. He's waiting outside."

In all of Romel's life, he'd never seen a man who looked more in need of a drink than Lehrgen had at that precise moment. Wordlessly, Romel had reached for the cut-crystal decanter on his desk and poured them each a glass of brandy. The other man had just sat there for a minute, staring at the amber liquid in contemplation, before tipping his head back and downing it in one go.

"That bad?" Romel had asked.

"Have you ever wondered if you've just made the worst decision of your life?"

"A few times."

"Degurechaff came by today."

"Oh?"

"She was looking for work. She starts on Monday," Lehrgen had confessed.

Romel had given a dry laugh. That Lehrgen couldn't decide whether he hated her more than he feared her or if it was the other way around was of course well known to him.

"You worked with her just fine that year she was your subordinate officer. I always respected you for putting your personal issues aside to figure out how to deal with her the right way," Romel had placated. "And she's not so bad as you think she is."

"I barely saw her back then. You saw more of her than I did, you can't have been blind to-,"

"Oh she's got some ghastly parts to her, don't think I didn't see them. But she's good at what she does, maybe the very best, she'll never let you down. She never questioned an order I gave her. And if she likes someone, she's not unwilling to take their interests into account, somewhere in there she knows how to be a friend. Or at least act like one," Romel had countered, pouring each of them another drink. "Plus, if she's doing what she likes, she's rather fun to be around."

"I told her we'd pay her well," Lehrgen had said, after a long pause. "I don't think she'd have accepted otherwise."

"There's money for that somewhere, she's worth a dozen or more officers, if I have to fire one or two to pay her I don't mind. Why'd you care enough to win her over?"

"She's looked for other jobs, it's only luck she hasn't realized almost any politician would take her on, for propaganda purposes if nothing else. But once she was in, soon enough they'd realize she's worth a lot more. The general public wouldn't stand a chance against her."

"So what," Romel had said, leaning back into his chair and cracking a wry smile, "keep your friends close but your enemies closer?"

"Something like that," Lehrgen had muttered, finishing his second drink.

"Well, I'll be glad to have her back around, at the very least," Romel had chuckled. "I always did like working with her. And you might too, if you give her a fair chance."

Lehrgen had tipped his head sideways and given a doubtful "mm" instead of contradicting him outright, and then had left, probably to go home and have another few drinks.

Romel wasn't a bad man at heart, so in the months since he'd never dropped in on his Chief of Operations to say _I told you so, _though really, Lehrgen deserved it for doubting him. The other man still professed to being deeply suspicious of his assistant whenever Romel asked, but he wasn't so sure that was the truth any longer. He didn't think Lehrgen was lying to him, necessarily, more like he was lying to himself. More than tolerating her, it was plain as day that he positively enjoyed working with her. If anyone were to say that out loud, Lehrgen would likely consider it the most offensive comment ever directed his way, so Romel had kept quiet on that count.

The pair was more likely to be caught arguing than anything else, but so far as any of the other officers could tell, they actually liked arguing with each other, as though they both found it fun to have encountered someone else who was capable of picking apart flaws in their logic or pointing out something the other hadn't realized. Half the time it seemed like they both agreed, but one had chosen to play devil's advocate for the sake of giving a thorough consideration to the topic at hand. He was too smart by half and she three times over, so with Zettour gone, in all probability it wasn't often that either got the chance to talk to someone who could keep up with them.

Romel's head rose to assess the woman approaching his desk, his ruminations coming to an end as Degurechaff herself entered.

"General von Romel," she greeted, seating herself across from him.

"How've you been, Degurechaff?"

"Fine, sir, thanks for asking. And yourself?"

Romel nearly gave the same perfunctory response that she had, but caught himself before making it. If there was one person who'd commiserate with him, it was her. Impossible as it sounded, she'd been even hungrier for battle than Romel himself had; he'd liked the challenges of being out in the field and out-thinking his enemies on the fly, she'd enjoyed the same, plus the fight itself. If Romel was chafing at the bit to do something more active than stare at memos and sit in meetings, Degurechaff must be positively beside herself with longing for their days on the Southern Continent.

It would do her good to have someone to admit that to. She'd be smart enough to know that she couldn't tell Lehrgen that what she really wanted was to be back at it with her _Kampfgruppe,_ for fear that he'd take it as a declaration of an imminent threat.

_Actually, does she know that her boss used to spend his days going back and forth over whether she was insane or just evil? _Romel wondered. He'd always assumed she had to be aware - her clairvoyance was so uncanny she could probably profit handsomely setting up shop as a fortuneteller, so to imagine that something so obvious and well-known throughout the officer corps would have escaped her was nigh unthinkable.

_But who would ever tell her? _was the next question that came to mind. There wasn't exactly a nice way to mention it. What sort of person would have had the fortitude to have come out and told her the truth? The way she used to smile with satisfaction when Lehrgen was around had always made Romel think that she must know, and couldn't keep a grin off her face at the thought that she'd overcome every barrier the man had tried to throw in her way.

_Well, Zettour talked to her often enough, and he wasn't one to mince words. He probably said something, _Romel concluded. And if he hadn't, it was too late now. No point in spilling the secret, and in the process ruining a duo so formidable it threatened to replace Zettour and Rudersdorf as the Staff Office's most vaunted pair of creative problem-solvers.

In any case, if Degurechaff had ever mentioned to Lehrgen that she was growing tired of making plans but not doing anything with them, Lehrgen would surely have come back up to have another drink and grumble about how impossible she was, so Romel knew she hadn't said a word to him about it. That meant, like Romel, she didn't have anyone to complain to about having been stuck with office work for the rest of eternity. And it would do him a good turn to have a friendly ear to gripe into, one who really understood how he felt.

"I'm not doing the job I'd like to be, I'll tell you that," he sighed.

"...is that so, sir?"

"I sit in this godforsaken office all day making decisions about other people's work instead of doing any myself. The thing they don't tell you about being important is that all of a sudden, you're too damned important to risk doing anything real or reckless, so everything fun gets confiscated. You should be careful or you'll end up like me. There's such a thing as being too good at your job."

"I'm not so sure about that, sir," she said, with a bemused smile. "But I can understand the feeling of having to work hard at something you aren't interested in so that it pays off in the future."

_Ahh, I was right, _Romel thought, giving the girl across from him an understanding smile. You'd have to be nearly out of your mind to think that Tanya Degurechaff would be content to never see action again. She was biding her time, working away as hard as she could at overcoming the difficulties of a smaller and less well-funded military, all in the hopes that when she turned eighteen and was allowed to enlist, it wouldn't be long until she was assigned something more exciting. And there wouldn't be anything more exciting than paperwork if she just rolled over and accepted that the Empire would never be Europa's strongest power again, so even if desk work bored her out of her mind, she kept herself fixed on the goal that one day, she'd get another chance at glory.

Romel envied her. At her age, there was plenty of opportunity to see her plans come to fruition. Less so for him. The best he could do would be to hand the army off to his successor in better shape than he inherited it.

"Ahh well. Easy for you to say. You've got your whole career ahead of you. This is probably it for me."

Degurechaff humored him with an understanding smile back. _See, she does know how to be friendly when she wants to, _Romel thought, nodding to himself. He was rarely wrong in the way he read people, and she was a fairly straightforward case.

"There's no reason to say that the best is all in the past yet," she reassured. "Who can say what will happen in a few years? You might come to be thankful to have the opportunity to lead the Army into a better future."

_Bureaucracy be damned, if she was in my seat, she'd never let anyone hold her back from marching at the head of the column,_ Romel chuckled to himself. He'd like to see that better future just as much as she, where the Imperial Army was once again as good as invincible, and they had a streak of winning engagements for the nation to take pride in.

_Though I do hope she isn't planning anything of that nature. Or at least not too soon,_ Romel thought. He didn't have quite the need to cover himself in glory that Degurechaff did, so he wasn't going to create a war for his own benefit. He'd leave that to the politicians to do, they were good enough at it. They didn't need his help. She was a different story, though. Lehrgen wasn't hallucinating when he saw certain unappetizing bits to her personality. If rumor could be believed, she'd predicted the last war turning into a continent-wide fiasco. If Lehrgen's worst nightmares could be believed, she'd done her part in making that a reality.

Whether that was true or not Romel didn't care to judge, but there was no denying that she had a temperament well-suited to fomenting another conflict so that she had a shot at getting revenge for their loss. There was a reason she'd never be promoted too far past lieutenant colonel. She was a soldier par excellence, but too much power in the hands of someone whose decision making was colored by the sort of zealous conviction she was prone to was a dangerous thing.

_If only I'd had the foresight to be more like her, _Romel lamented. _A little more bloodlust and I would never have been trusted with this godawful job._

"You aren't getting too bored yet, are you?" he asked.

She considered a moment before giving her answer. "For now, this is the most interesting sort of work I can do, so I have no complaints."

That was music to Romel's ears. She made his job easier, what with her unending desire to improve the way the Army was run, so he wouldn't want her mind wandering. He wasn't going to moralize about the reasons behind it. If she was doing it because she wanted to be back out on the battlefield in as little time as possible, so long as she didn't have the power to declare war, it didn't matter. And anyway, in a certain sort of way, Romel could sympathize with her.

So long as the right limits were in place, what she ultimately wanted was a non-issue, and the best anyone could do was to use her prodigious talents appropriately. Few enough even knew how to do that, Zettour and Rudersdorf, himself, Lehrgen had eventually learned. Though Lehrgen went and got himself all turned around worrying about _why _she did things, which Romel had no plans on dabbling in. So far as he could tell, it hadn't changed anything, and caused nothing but stress.

Feeling the urge to pull at his collar again to let in some cooler air, Romel got up and switched on the small fan that he kept near his desk. Aside from a few pens and a family photo, it was the only thing in the office that was really his. His adjutant had lent it to someone once while he was out, and Romel had jealously guarded it ever since. Having to sit in his office was bad enough, but having to sit in a hot and stuffy office? There were days this summer when he thought that the pleasant breeze the fan created was the only thing keeping him from snapping and setting the damned building on fire. At least _that _was guaranteed to relieve him of his job, and no one would beg him to come back.

"So," he said, sitting back down, "no complaints about your job, but how about mine?"

"Sir?"

"Anything you'd do differently, if you were me?"

Her gaze lifted to the ceiling as her fist came up and pressed against her chin, her mind searching through its vast catalog of information as she pondered his question.

"If I may make one suggestion...?"

"I asked for it, didn't I?" Romel asked, with a gruff laugh.

"You were a proponent of objective-based thinking when it came to troop movements. Giving your men a goal but letting them decide on how to achieve it."

"And you always went beyond my expectations," he commented.

She flashed a quick grin at the compliment. "The same could be done here. Top-down thinking is still the norm."

"How do you mean?"

"Well, broad strategy should, of course, be left up to you and the rest of the high command," she explained, "but there's no reason you or the other high-ranking officers need to be involved in the specifics. Don't tell people exactly what you want, tell them what you need the finished product to be and let them decide how to do it."

Romel leaned forward with avid interest. Somehow, this sounded like it was going to result in less paperwork, so regardless of the other merits of the idea, he was on board.

"For example, if you were talking about a tank that you want designed, instead of getting down to the level of saying that you want the plating to be a hundred millimeters thick, and a certain grade of steel, and so on, you just say you expect it to withstand fire to whatever your desired degree is, and let the manufacturers figure out how to make that work. For all we know there's better ways of making the armor that no one's explored because they're too caught up meeting the specifications we give them."

"I like it," he said, drumming his hands on the desk in excitement.

"Same with projects you need worked on," she continued. "So long as you trust that the person you're handing it off to can get it done, all you need is to tell them what problems they need to solve, not what the solution needs to be. Push some of that down to the lower ranking officers than yourself and the other generals. The best results come from giving people the freedom to make their own choices, at least within the bounds you set for them. They'll work harder on an idea if it feels like it's theirs."

"You're much too wise, Degurechaff, you know that?" Romel chuckled, twirling his pen as he spoke. "Sometimes I do wonder if you're fifteen or fifty."

She gave a breath of laughter and looked away. "There's days I'm not sure myself," she joked. "Though I am sixteen now, sir."

"That so? I suppose I should know, I really ought to have a countdown until the day you're eligible for service again, shouldn't I?"

"...I do hope you think that isn't necessary, sir?"

"Just a joke, just a joke," he reassured her. He hadn't meant to imply that someone needed to keep track of her and make sure she volunteered, like she couldn't be expected to do it herself. Teenagers were always touchy about those sorts of things. Especially ones who were mature enough to think they were adults.

"Well, at your age you have better things to do than listen to an old man complain," he told her. "Get yourself out of here at a reasonable hour, and if your boss says anything about it, tell him it's my fault."

She smiled at that and ducked out. Romel wished he could do the same.

—

Tanya walked out of General von Romel's office, intending, after that last comment he'd made, to take his advice and leave. There were times when a person deserved to have a drink.

Some people need to learn that not all jokes are funny. Me volunteering when there's no threat of conscription hanging over my head sounds like the sort of gag a certain false deity would enjoy, but to the person who's out there risking her life, it's not a laughing matter. I'll avoid that at all costs. There might not be an active war going on, but that's not going to stop the army from inventing something dangerous for me to do. Magna Rumeli is threatening to collapse at any moment. They didn't have the grace to join the World War and die in it like the Ottoman Empire did, so they're still limping along.

I don't need to be part of a peacekeeping force sent abroad when things take a turn for the worse. Somehow, I don't think it will end up being that peaceful. The only reputation I'll be burnishing during that stint will be my one of undeserved infamy for committing atrocities against civilians.

Well, that aside, if I was forced to re-enlist for some reason, as long as my career advanced quickly enough, I wouldn't need to be worried about standing on the front lines again. No one would send a general off waving her sword around like she's cannon fodder. If being too good at my job lands me in General von Romel's place, I'll work as hard as I need to. It's what I was aiming for from the very beginning, and Romel only confirmed I was on the right track.

Practically nothing could be safer than being a high-ranking general, plus, the pay can't be bad. It's still not enough for me to want to enlist voluntarily, but if I'm ever required to serve again, it would at least be bearable if I was General Tanya Degurechaff. Maybe they'll even give me the _von _back. Seriously, what does Romel have to complain about? Not having the chance to die on the battlefield? Please, sign me up. As a woman, I feel no need to prove that I can beat anyone in a fight. I'd be much happier not fighting at all, even if someone thinks I'm a coward.

Tanya paused as she was gathering her things, plopping down into the chair in front of her desk and resting her head in her hands. _Wait, what did I just think? Did I really just say "as a woman?" What does that have to do with anything? It's not like I ever wanted to fight anyone in my previous life either._

Ah, really, I haven't used the Type 95 in more than a year and I still have to be vigilant about my thoughts. What a demented set up.

Anyway, as a rational person, I'm not going to volunteer for something that involves bodily harm if I could be doing desk work instead. If it comes down to a choice like that, I'd rather do any sort of desk work, even if it's sitting in a basement filing receipts all day. When I was on the Rhine front, something like that would have been a dream job.

I couldn't exactly say that to Romel when it was clear he wanted to grumble about the unwanted demands he faces. In fairness, I'm sure those aren't to be brushed off, Chief of Staff isn't known for being a sinecure, but at worst, he'll just get yelled at or forced to retire if he makes a mistake.

When you're in the mood to complain, no one wants to hear each of their points refuted, you're just looking to blow off some steam. If he's already in a bad mood, contradicting him would just make it worse, and I'd become the target of his resentment to boot. Of course, I wasn't going to go so far as to agree with him, although I did try to get him to see the good side of his work. He has the chance to make sure the military doesn't go down in history as some sort of evil monstrosity. If he can direct it the right way, he'll personally make a difference in stabilizing Europa for a lasting peace. Not many people get a chance like that.

Tanya made her way to her boss's office to let him know she'd be heading out early, with Romel's permission.

"You're off?" Lehrgen asked, looking up.

"Unless you needed something?"

He shook his head. "I came by to find you a few minutes ago, but it can wait until Monday."

"Oh, apologies, sir. Romel called me in for one of our meetings."

Lehrgen's eyes narrowed at that. "How often do you do that?"

"Not often," Tanya protested, hoping he wasn't upset that she was skipping a level in the hierarchy to meet with his boss. Office culture in Japan had taught her how rigid some people could be about proper protocol on that front. "It's nothing serious, I think he just wants to reminisce about old times with me."

"I see."

Tanya fought the desire to apologize again, since she'd done nothing wrong, though Lehrgen still had an air of displeasure. He'd told her when she started her job that she could arrange her time as she pleased and didn't need to clear every meeting with him, so she hadn't explicitly informed him that she'd met with Romel a handful of times, especially since the meetings were short and nothing serious tended to come of them. In fact, Romel mostly just asked if she had anything that was better said to him than Lehrgen. Tanya respected Romel for soliciting constructive criticism on his subordinates, but she had little in the way of that to give.

"I don't let it interfere with my work," she offered, hoping that would ease his mind. "And it's hard to say no when the Chief of Staff summons you," she added. Lehrgen couldn't rightly expect her to turn that down.

"I - of course. I knew you'd seen him a few times, you are old friends. Romel's just always made it seem like it was a quick chat in the hall, I didn't realize it was more formal than that. Is there anything I should be aware of?"

_Ahh, I was right, _Tanya thought, relaxing. Lehrgen had simply been concerned that he would be out of the loop on a new project. Managers always jealously guard their best employees, so it was only natural that he'd worry that she was working on something that would earn one of his colleagues accolades at his expense.

She shook her head. "Just listened to a few complaints he has over his job," she said, with a small laugh. "I expect you've heard them."

"Oh yes," Lehrgen said, giving a short laugh back.

"I gave him a suggestion or two about the future so he has something to look forward to," she continued. "And he repaid the favor by treating my future re-enlistment like it was a joke. Although, you might think it's funny too."

After all, Lehrgen had betrayed some inclination towards wanting to see her back in the Army in an official capacity as soon as it was legal. At least he hadn't made light of it.

Lehrgen's chuckle cut short. "No, that shouldn't be a joke to anyone. Even to people who want you to volunteer."

"Thank you, sir. At least we can agree on that."

"Your mind is made up, then?"

She nodded solemnly.

"Well, two years is a long time," he commented.

"Not long enough to change my opinion," she said firmly. She didn't need him thinking it would be easy to convince her to reconsider what her preferred job would be and bothering her over it all the time. "See you Monday."

With a sigh, he waved her out.

* * *

_A/N If printers existed, there would need to be a line item in the military budget where they were earmarked for Romel to destroy on a bad day because he'd go through a lot of them. And not to ruin your conception of Lehrgen but...Bill Lumbergh look-alike?  
_

_Tanya, Romel tried to warn you to stop being too good at everything. Really should've listened. I hope you enjoy reading Romel as much as I enjoy writing him. A billion thanks to GrapeFanta who pointed out some future plot issues that Romel is helping to fix, there would be no Romel POV if it weren't for that. Thanks also to Acerman for pointing out that if you haven't read the Light Novels, you basically know nothing about Romel & Tanya's relationship because I've only mentioned him in passing, and for finding me a building to estimate the door count :)  
_

_I mentioned many chapters back what the current/former Imperial officers are up to, but I'll give a quick summation here to keep it easy.  
\- __**Romel**__: Chief of Staff, he is the head of the entire army. In the LNs he is a Lieutenant General who manages the Africa campaign, so WWII Rommel but in WWI.  
\- __**Zettour**__: technically retired because he flagrantly violated the treaty by re-establishing the general staff and not!France got angry about it so the Imperial government "punished" him. To my memory he was the Chief of the Service department during the war. I briefly promoted him to Chief of Staff in the aftermath, he handed off the position to Romel when he was forced out. Zettour is still working behind the scenes. We'll meet him soon.  
\- __**Rudersdorf**__: voluntary exile in not!Switzerland. He was the Chief of Operations, which Wikipedia leads me to believe was the most important department in the General Staff, so he let everyone blame him for losing the war. He's down there illegally re-domiciling industrial arms production because the Swiss are good at keeping secrets and care more about getting paid than enforcing a treaty they didn't even sign, since they weren't part of the war.  
\- __**Lehrgen**__: He was under Rudersdorf during the war, so I promoted him to Rudersdorf's old position, Chief of Operations, along with Rudersdorf's rank at the beginning of the series, Brigadier General. He reports directly to Romel. I have no idea how militaries work, maybe there's supposed to be a management layer in between the two, but lets just say the Gen Staff got reduced post-war so they streamlined the reporting structure. Lehrgen has an adjutant who shows up and disappears pretty much based on plot convenience, I think I'm going to name him Ernst, he'll show up more later, he's probably in his early 20s or something.  
\- __**Tanya**__ has no official rank anymore, she functions as a person for Lehrgen to brainstorm ideas with and a convenient person for him to delegate things to. Probably some weird red tape had to be overcome to hire her, but let's pretend that since all the important people know Tanya, they let her look at classified info etc without going through proper procedure. Or maybe I'm overthinking how bureaucratic hiring & security clearances were in 1929. She is working in the Army while she builds her resume for another job, and she wants to make the army/country healthy so there is no threat of further war/conscription.  
_


	25. Son, can you play me a memory?

.

**September 3, 1929**

**General Staff Office, Imperial Capital Berun**

Today's lunch was _Sauerbraten_.

It was not a difficult dish to make. It required some chopping - onion and carrot and leek - at the start, but aside from that, it didn't require much in the way of hard work, and demanded very little in skill. The key was to let it marinate. For days, even up to two weeks. The meat soaked up the sauce, becoming tender and flavorful in the process.

_That_, Brigadier General von Lehrgen surmised, chewing at a tough morsel, _is what they forgot_. They, of course, being whichever members of Berun's guard unit were on duty in the kitchen.

_Do none of them have a mother they can call for advice?_ he wondered sullenly. There was hardly a woman in the Empire that couldn't make a passable attempt at a dish so traditional as this. How not a single one of the men in the kitchen had learned, somewhere along the way, by accident if nothing more, that you didn't serve _Sauerbraten_ the same day you started it, would forever be one of the universe's many mysteries.

Even assuming some of the men, like Lehrgen himself, hadn't had the benefit of a domestically-inclined mother, and had instead grown up with a household cook, it was hard to believe that none of them had ever snuck out of bed one night for an extra dessert, creeping down to the kitchen to retrieve it and while quietly making their way to the jar, chanced upon the meat stewing, only to see it anew when it was served several days later. It wasn't hard to put two and two together.

_Degurechaff's right about getting rid of this lot_, he grumbled, using his fork to poke at the remaining meat, vainly trying to find a section that wasn't so leathery it made him morbidly curious whether a boot had somehow gotten mixed in. The Army had to watch its spending these days, so perhaps they'd found a convenient way of recycling old material.

Really, just about anyone could cook better. Even Tanya herself might be able to surpass the low bar set by the kitchen staff, and that was saying something. At least she would be self-aware enough to ask for help with one of the few things she professed to lack the skill to do. If nothing else, she could follow directions. It had never before occurred to Lehrgen that a person might want to eat something Tanya had cooked, but impossibly, this meal was making him daydream about suffering through whatever black matter would result from her attempt at the dish he was picking over.

If he could have his choice of substitute, a friendly corps of grandmothers would perhaps make the best replacement cooks. Happy to be of use to their country, they'd ask for nothing more than their now-meager pensions to be rounded up. Though, it would be more difficult for the officers in the General Staff to keep in shape if that were the case. For now, they were all on what might be called an involuntary diet.

Looking around the table at his fellow officers, Lehrgen recognized the same grimace of resignation mixed with disappointment and distaste that he imagined was on his own face. Mostly, they were all making a meal out of the potato dumplings served on the side, which were edible, if rather bland.

Anyone who'd spent more than a week or two in the office was well used to the incongruity of a meal on the premises. The rich and heavy wood of the table, the fine drapery and linens, the delicate chinaware and freshly polished silverware, it all prepared one to eat a meal of a similar caliber, the menu the brainchild of a chef who'd studied in Parisee and then toured the circuit of famous kitchens, honing his talents under the watchful eyes of Europa's premier culinary masters.

Instead, despite all the work put into the ambiance, the food itself came out looking as though it was kitchen slop, suitable for no audience aside from Berun's stray dogs. The table was attended by only high-ranking officers, all of whom, excepting Lehrgen himself, had served on the General Staff for ten years or more, so not a one of them was surprised by the quality of the meal. The only person who looked outraged and appalled by the lunch he'd been served was their guest, Herr Gassler. The Empire's Minister of Defense had apparently never been "treated" to a lunch at the General Staff Office before.

That was probably the point - Romel did know how to play politics when he wanted to, knew how to tell someone he found them tiresome without saying the actual words. Likely, he was forcing himself and his men to suffer through the meal only because he could rest assured that the Minister was suffering more. As soldiers, they were all too familiar with battles of attrition, and on this front, they had the benefit of experience.

The topic of discussion today was the reason Romel was so set on offending the sensibilities of their appointed government overseer. After all the invasions the Empire had suffered in the past war, Gassler and his staff were in the midst of proposing that some sort of ultra-fortified line be built along the Imperial-Republican border. Not the current border, which would be too long to finance at the moment, but rather the future, shortened border, assuming that the Lowlands voted for independence from the Empire during their promised plebiscite in a few years' time, which would put a neutral buffer state along the northern half. Technically, the construction of the forts was possible without the Army's go-ahead. It would all be rather pointless, though, if the military didn't make plans to man it properly.

They'd been saying no to Gassler for months, arguing that at least for now, an invasion so soon after the last war was unlikely, so the money should be spent on more pressing needs. The Republic's politicians were still drunk off a victory that wasn't theirs, and aggressive rhetoric over the recent Imperial occupation was the norm, but Intelligence had repeatedly reassured both the political and military leadership that it was nothing but bluster.

Regardless, Gassler had finally gone around them and had one of his party's politicians put forward a spending bill for his idea in Parliament, in an attempt to strong-arm Romel into agreeing. Lehrgen had only one comment on that strategy: Gassler could hardly have chosen a worse opponent. Anyone who thought they could bully Romel into acquiescence clearly had never met the general on the battlefield.

That wasn't to say that there were no sympathizers with the minister's proposal. Some of the officers had voiced support for the idea when it was first put forward. Just last week Lehrgen had seen one of the other generals being yelled out of their Chief of Staff's office over it. But, no matter anyone's personal opinion, they had to a man fallen in line to present a united front against an outsider who represented a government that certain officers still saw as illegitimate. They'd signed up to serve king and country, and with the royal family gone, their loyalty now lay firmly with the Army, instead of with their elected leaders.

Lehrgen would confess to having a certain fondness for the idea of the monarchy himself, but he didn't let it interfere with his duty to serve the current head of state. It was pure folly to seriously entertain the notion that the Empire would return to being ruled by a single man again. The world was modernizing, whether he liked it or not.

Regardless of the fact that he accepted the government in power as his right and proper leaders, this idea of theirs to fortify the border was something he couldn't see eye to eye with them on. He couldn't put his finger precisely on why. Many of the arguments in its favor were reasonable, but no matter how often he repeated them in his head, he remained unconvinced. Mostly, it felt like it was the wrong direction to be going. War had increasingly become about mobility and adaptability, and thousands of tons of concrete did not lend itself well to either.

Gassler had been negotiated into a sort of impasse by the time lunch was finishing - Romel had yet to budge from his original position, but had agreed to speak on the matter before Parliament. Lehrgen could only hope that their elected officials wouldn't be so insulted by Romel's brusque mannerisms and lack of obeisance that they refused to listen to sense.

Leaving the majority of his lunch untouched, he headed back to his office for his next meeting.

"Say, Degurechaff," he interrupted, an hour later, as he listened distractedly to the updates she was giving him, his previous engagement still on his mind. She paused and turned away from his map to look at him, hand still in the air from where it had been pointing.

"You follow what's going on in Parliament?"

She nodded slowly, raising an eyebrow along with it.

"One of the bills making its way through there, it's for military fortifications."

"Yes," she said, after a moment's pause. "I know the one. Haven't seen any details yet, though."

"The Minister of Defense wants a series of heavy forts built to form a line running the future border with the Republic."

She gave a short "pah?" of surprise before rolling her head back and laughing.

Lehrgen didn't think the idea the best use of available funds, but it wasn't so foolish it deserved the disbelieving snickers that Tanya was trying to contain. Before he could ask what could possibly be so funny about a subject as stodgy as barricading the Empire in, she recovered from her bout of amusement to ask a question.

"Have we gotten word the Republic is building one and want a version to call our own?"

"No."

"Really?"

"Not that I know of. Why?" Lehrgen queried.

"Nothing. I guess it was us who got invaded, wasn't it?"

He didn't bother answering the rhetorical question. He was passingly curious how she'd gotten the notion that this idea was stolen from the Republic, but he ignored that in favor of the more important question - what her opinion of the idea was.

"Am I to assume by your reaction you don't think it wise?"

She hesitated before replying. "Do you, sir?" she asked.

"I know my thoughts. I'd like to know yours. I would hope that by now you'd trust that I won't hold it against you if we disagree," he replied, picking up a pen to take notes with.

"It's a waste," she said, shaking her head.

"It'll prevent an easy invasion," he countered. "Stuttgard and Frankfort wouldn't be terribly difficult for the Republic to reach."

It was a secret known only to him and his maker, but Lehrgen had, on occasion, reconsidered his own position on a subject based on Tanya's opinion. He was a logical man, and whatever her other faults, so was she. Well, she was a logical woman, rather. It was no surprise that on many a debate, they'd take the same side.

In the past, the very fact that she'd agreed with him had been enough to make him suspect that he was wrong. Though reason might have been in their favor, when Degurechaff had professed a belief in the rightness of a particular argument, the man he was several years ago would have been willing to bet that her decision was made only after throwing aside basic human decency and figuring out which option would lead to the worst possible consequences for the world at large.

He no longer had the instinctive reaction to oppose something simply because she was for it. It was true that she might not let moral implications weigh her down, but that didn't prevent her from being correct. Often, she saw solutions more with more clarity because she could categorize outcomes into quantifiable costs and benefits instead of being distracted by the more ambiguous values of right and wrong.

Lehrgen's current line of counterargument, then, wasn't being pursued because of some fundamental need he had to disagree with her. It was just that Tanya could at times elucidate his thoughts better than he could himself. Her arguments came neatly packaged, like a lesson in a history book informing bored students why this or that event had happened the way it had, instead of the tangled mess his own mind sorted through when confronted with unpredictability, unable to succinctly put words to anything. He wondered, sometimes, what it was like to see the world as she did, the future nearly as clear in her mind as the past.

Tanya shook her head in response to his objection. "If the Republic wants to entertain the idea of winning a war with us, they have to cripple our industry, and there's a faster way of getting to it than invading in the south," she said, pointing to the portion of the Lowlands that lay between the Republican border and the Empire's largest factories. "The Lowlands won't have the power to defend against an invasion once it's an independent country. And so long as the Françoise don't slow down to occupy it, they may not even fight to begin with."

"You say it like it's a sure thing," he chuckled.

"It's rather obvious."

"It's obvious that the Republic will violate the sovereignty of what will be a neutral country if they decide they want to invade us again, potentially alienating the Commonwealth in the process, when we'll have four hundred kilometers of a shared border they could cross instead?"

"What I'm saying is that unless the line is going to extend from the North Sea to the Alps, we can't guarantee it will do much good. Something that costs as much money as the numbers I've seen thrown around in the papers shouldn't be devoted to something that's only partially effective."

"The point isn't to totally prevent a concentrated invasion, just an opportunistic one. We'll always have to contend with the specter of a war on multiple fronts; if we can hold one of them with a relatively small complement of troops, it frees us up to fight a proper war on another border. The Eastern Front is far too extensive to do anything of the sort, or at least not until our economy improves, so if we're going to start anything now, it has to be in the west. Besides, it would be politically insupportable to build an entrenchment in the east and tacitly cede all the lost territory to the Federation into perpetuity."

"Concentrating ourselves onto one front to try to fight large, pitched battles didn't necessarily help, last time," she reminded him. "The vast majority of our forces were on the Eastern Front, and we still lost."

"That's...true," Lehrgen said, what was troubling him about the plan finally beginning to take coherent shape. "I think that's why Romel's so against it. Committing forces somewhere stationary like that isn't what won him his battles."

"A small, highly mobile and effective force in the right place was what won, in the end. It was what made the 203rd so useful. If the Republic isn't smart enough to learn from that, we hardly need to bother defending ourselves from them."

"It wasn't just that," Lehrgen countered. "If we hadn't been so strained from years of war, we'd have had enough men along the Eastern Front to have made a difference. The 203rd was useful, no denying that, but there'll never be enough mages to win a war singlehandedly. Not a big one, at least."

"You don't need mages," she said, shaking her head as she bit a thumbnail, gazing blankly at the floor while lost in thought before turning to look at him again, "with a bit of training and more reliable parachutes, you could jump out of the sky yourself, as could every able-bodied citizen of the country."

Lehrgen blanched at the thought. If there was one reason to be glad for his rapid promotions, it was that he would never be tasked with undergoing some sort of training devised by Degurechaff. The stories he'd heard had been more than enough to give him nightmares. He could only imagine that experiencing it in person would be the death of him.

Tanya gave an understanding grin to his reaction. "Well, I wouldn't have ever gone parachuting if it weren't for my magic either."

"Gone parachuting?" he chuckled. "You make it sound like a sport."

"Might be, one day."

"I'll believe that when I see it."

She gave an enigmatic smile to that, then turned back to their discussion. "Point is, with the right aircraft the Republic can fly over a network of forts and drop men on the other side, and they will if they're smart. If we've spent all our money on it, we'll have no planes of our own to shoot them down."

Lehrgen winced at the slight criticism. If training regular infantrymen to jump out of airplanes was the bright thing to do, the Imperial Army had collectively failed that test of intelligence. So far, he wasn't aware that there were any large-scale plans of that nature. _I'll have to look into that_, he thought, making a few notes on the pad of paper in front of him. Degurechaff's idea was an argument no one had yet presented as a major obstacle to Gassler's fortifications. He'd have to pass that along to Romel to add to his arsenal.

"Military value aside, I think one of the reasons the current government is so enamored of the idea is that a defensive line looks like a rather innocuous posture. We've got a bit of a reputation for aggression, if you hadn't noticed."

"A not entirely deserved one," Tanya snorted. "We may have overreacted, but we never invaded."

"Doesn't change what people think," he sighed. "And it will keep the voters feeling safe and secure behind what looks like an impenetrable line. I'm sure that's a consideration."

"But not one important enough to spend our now limited budget satisfying. I'm not saying fortifications of that sort will be completely ineffective, just not effective enough to justify the cost. If we've got that sort of money to throw around, it's better invested in guaranteeing us aerial supremacy than control over a single stretch of earth. The Republic could circumvent it too easily. Over it, through the heart of the Lowlands, or if they're afraid that's politically impossible, then through the Ardennes where hardly anyone will notice."

Lehrgen huffed out a laugh at that. "No one would be mad enough to lead a major advance through the Ardennes." _Or at least, no one but Degurechaff would be mad enough_, he chuckled to himself.

"It wouldn't be impossible," she said, shaking her head at him. "Just because it hasn't been done before doesn't mean it can't be."

Lehrgen noted that down as another point to mention to Romel. He didn't quite see how, but if Tanya said it was possible, it probably was. If there was one thing about her he knew he could trust, it was her instinct for finding and exploiting hitherto unknown weak spots.

"There's a cheaper way to make sure the Republic can't invade us opportunistically," she continued, musing almost to herself rather than him. "One that might actually make us money, in fact."

He waited expectantly for her to explain.

"If we encouraged more cross-border business, it might create some sort of economic dependence. We could even subsidize certain key industries. The Françoise might say they won't buy Imperial goods, but I'm sure they'll change their tune as soon as we're the cheaper option."

Lehrgen was no longer particularly perturbed by hearing the stark view on human nature that Degurechaff ascribed to. She'd been proven right, time and again, much to his chagrin. To her, everything was about numbers. Businessmen couldn't be expected to make the best decision for their community, but would only look at their bottom line, any moral concerns shunted aside in pursuit of profit. At least this time the numbers simply represented money, and not people being killed.

"And if we establish more connections over there, we'd at least have advanced warning if they were going to plan an invasion."

_Well, I'll at least be glad this time she's only planning an economic war_, Lehrgen thought to himself, nodding along with what she was saying as he continued taking notes. Of course, Tanya would think it natural to divert every last resource to some form of annihilation of her enemy. Funding business ventures with the express purpose of gaining a chokehold on the Republic and then recruiting the employees of said businesses into some form of gigantic intelligence network might not have been the healthiest form of foreign relations, but they were a far sight better than her advocating a return to open hostilities.

Of course, as a man whose chosen profession was in the Army, it wasn't as though he was against the idea of war in general. But to wish for a second chance at a total, all-consuming war, or any sort of a repeat of the bloodletting that had taken place in the last few years, to say nothing of the financial havoc it wreaked, was simply inhumane.

"Well, have I convinced you?" Tanya asked, after a moment spent watching him write.

"Hmm?" he asked, looking up, confused for a second before realizing she thought he'd been in favor of the fortification plan. "Oh. I agreed with you to begin with. Just couldn't say exactly why until you told me. I'll hand this off to Romel so he can argue with the powers that be over it," he told her, transferring the paper to one of his folders once he finished making notes. "And I meant to tell you earlier today, but Viktoriya will be released soon. I got the news last evening."

She flashed a smile to him, though whether it was over satisfaction that he thought she was right or because of the mention of her friend's return he didn't know.

"Her return is scheduled for November 11th," he continued.

"How ironic," she scoffed.

He looked at her questioningly.

"Nothing," she said, waving her hand dismissively. "Where will the prisoners be released?"

"In Dantzig," he replied. The city had neither remained a part of the Empire nor become a part of Polaska after the war, so was the closest thing to neutral territory that existed between the Empire and the Federation.

"I did obtain permission for you to accompany me," he continued.

"I'm not sure that…ahh - Thanks. I do appreciate it, sir," Tanya said quietly. Though he could have sworn she was about to say _I'm not sure that was necessary_, she actually looked mildly touched by the gesture, and the slight smile on her face had turned into one of real warmth.

"Don't mention it," he muttered, swallowing uncomfortably.

This side of Tanya was the rarest of all. If you'd asked him two years ago, he would have said he didn't think her remotely capable of real affection, and seeing it there made him feel like the worst sort of person for harboring so many uncharitable thoughts about her. It was limited, and extremely so, but her interactions with the most trusted members of the 203rd that he'd been witness to had always contained grains of some modicum of genuine friendship.

"A personal question, if I may?" Tanya asked, interrupting his train of thought.

He refocused and nodded at her. Any other time he would have dreaded and done his best to avoid any type of personal conversation with her, but for now he couldn't help but allow it.

"Do you know a good dentist?" she continued.

The question was unexpected, but not as personal as he'd feared. He figured there was no harm in recommending his own. It wasn't as though he went very often and would risk running into her there. He wrote out a name, address, and phone number, and handed it over.

"Thanks," she said, taking it.

"Take whatever day off you need to," he told her, "get it taken care of as quickly as you can."

"Oh," she said, turning back around, "there's nothing wrong."

"Then why do you need to see the dentist?" he asked, brows drawing together.

"Just for a check-up," she said, as though that was a perfectly normal reason.

After a second, he vaguely remembered hearing that the state had instituted yearly dental exams for schoolchildren not long after he'd graduated. Perhaps the army had continued the practice for its younger recruits.

"You aren't required to get one anymore," he said, waving her off. "No need to go through the hassle."

"Well, even if it's not required, surely you'd still want to get a professional opinion and a thorough cleaning?" she commented.

"Of course not," he replied back. Like he'd subject himself to that discomfort for no reason.

She looked absolutely scandalized by his response, brows furrowed and eyes open wide, like he'd just confessed to having never washed his hands in his life. _Does she not realize she's the abnormal one here?_ he wondered with exasperation.

"I don't know anyone that does, in fact," he told her, just in case she was indeed lacking an understanding of how regular people went about their lives. She was strange down the very core, apparently, even small habits like this at odds with the rest of the world.

She crossed her arms and settled into one hip, like a mother about to scold a wayward child, disappointment absolutely radiating off of her.

"Are you going to tell me you enjoy going, or something like that?" he asked, raising a brow.

"It's perfectly pleasant," she replied. "Unless there's an issue I find it quite relaxing."

He just shook his head in response, waving at her out the door.

It was shocking, not least of all to Lehrgen himself, but his opinion of Tanya had been steadily improving over time. Not near enough to erase the deep-seated suspicion that she had some fundamentally bad parts to her personality, but enough to make him think she might not be irredeemable as a whole.

This conversation, however, proved the importance of first impressions. She'd been doing a great job at hiding it over the past year, but only a complete psychopath could describe going to the dentist as a relaxing experience.

He laughed to himself and shook his head. If there was a stranger sort of creature out there than Tanya Degurechaff, he didn't want to meet it.

**September 13, 1929**

**General Staff Office, Imperial Capital Berun**

"A rapid invasion through the Ardennes?" General von Romel asked, raising his eyebrows as he paged through the notes that Lehrgen had handed over to him minutes ago. "That has Degurechaff written all over it."

"Yes," Lehrgen confirmed. "Though I'm not sure it's worth preparing for, necessarily. Degurechaff might be able to dream up a scheme like that, but I doubt anyone in the Republican Army could."

"I'd be curious to see how she thinks it could be done. And these...parachute-men?"

"She thought the idea so obvious it was almost like she expected we were already training them."

"Her battalion not good enough?" Romel chuckled. "She wants a whole brigade descending from the sky with her?"

Lehrgen gave a shrug in lieu of a response, hoping it wasn't the case. She hadn't sounded like she was necessarily interested in leading an expedition like that, just stating an obvious evolution in military tactics. _I think this might be the first time someone else has suspected a worse motive for her suggestions than I have_, he reflected, a moment later, wanting to sigh in exasperation. It was going to be a problem if he fell into the trap that some of his former superiors had, thinking that her actions were prompted by patriotism or some other ideal, rather than a twisted nature.

"Well, she's never had a bad idea when it comes to strategy," Romel conceded. "So if she says these parachuters are the future, we'd be fools to ignore it."

"As you say, sir," Lehrgen replied, standing up and giving a salute before he left, making his way over to the office where the subject of his recent conversation sat.

Tanya was standing in front of her desk, eyes darting around the morass of papers covering it, spread all the way out to the corners. It wasn't an unusual way of finding her. Her desk was always straightened up neatly by the time she left, but while she was in the middle of something her tendency was to lay everything in front of her instead of going through pages one by one.

"Degurechaff," he said, rapping twice at her door, her attention too deeply focused on her work to register his presence.

"Sir?" she asked, glancing up from whatever she was reading.

"Hypothetically speaking," he emphasized, "General von Romel is interested in understanding how a quick invasion through the Lowlands would be possible for the Republic to pull off. If you could write something up…?"

She frowned briefly, though she tried to hide it, face returning to its normal placidity a half second later. _This is Tanya we're talking about_, Lehrgen thought. _Of course she'd be disappointed that a plan like that is all hypothetical. She'd probably like to reverse it and pull off the invasion herself._

"I'll see to it as soon as I can, sir," she promised unenthusiastically.

True to her word, a few days later Lehrgen came back from having coffee with another colleague and found a neatly bound report sitting on his desk, and passed it along to Romel as soon as he got the opportunity.

The Chief of Staff had almost the same reaction to it that Lehrgen had himself - it was nearly impossible to keep your jaw from dropping when confronted with something so bold. It was quintessentially Tanya, willing to gamble everything and suffer steep losses in hopes of routing the enemy unexpectedly, and then exploiting their confusion.

"It's...daring," Lehrgen offered, choosing his words carefully to avoid offending his boss.

"I like daring," Romel grinned.

_I knew he'd see it that way_, Lehrgen sighed, his hope that Romel wouldn't want to follow the path of destruction Tanya had lain out fading. It was a natural next step in the combined arms philosophy she'd come up with when she'd suggested her _Kampfgruppen_, but this time focused more heavily on the use of tanks and total air superiority to quickly overwhelm the opposition.

It was a far riskier and more aggressive use of force than the Imperial Army would typically commit to - it might increase the chance of success in an individual battle, but in the event of failure would result in staggering losses and an inability to reposition or recover easily. Romel was bolder even than Rudersdorf had been, so naturally favored Tanya's line of thinking over a more cautious approach.

"I'd much rather spend money on making this possible than building a damn wall," Romel commented, lighting a cigar like he was already feeling victorious over future skirmishes. "It'll almost be a shame if we never get to use this."

_I don't think I'll be eating lunch today_, Lehrgen thought sourly as he left, feeling the gnawing sense of dread and anxiety that he always did when confronted with Tanya's newest ideas being received enthusiastically by his superiors. There was a difference between understanding the rationality behind her battleplans and being excited to see them put into action. Lehrgen could only wish that more officers stood on his side of that line. Sometimes he wasn't sure if it was just Tanya that was mad, or the rest of the world too.

**September 30, 1929**

**General Staff Office, Imperial Capital Berun**

"I hope whoever's responsible for organizing the archives does a good job at it, or we'll be down here all day," Brigadier General von Lehrgen commented, fiddling with the old lock at the door he was trying to open, then turning the knob and pulling it towards him after he felt it give, allowing Tanya to walk in ahead of him.

Tanya sneezed before she could respond. When she found the switch to turn on a light and the room flickered into visibility, Lehrgen could see why. A layer of dust covered every surface he could make out. Feeling his eyes start to water after Degurechaff's movements had disturbed enough particulate matter to make it swirl through the air, he ducked his head back out the door for one last clear breath before heading in to hunt down an old set of files that they needed.

"What's that doing down here?" Degurechaff asked, as they made their way between boxes, pointing at the out-of-place old piano in the basement room.

He shrugged, having no idea himself.

"It was probably what got used at some of the formal banquets that were held on the premises," he guessed. "Before the war made that sort of extravagance imprudent."

When he gave it a second look, it had, at one point, been a very nice piano. After being relegated to the archive level for several years the wood had lost its luster, but there was a good chance it still sounded alright. It had been protected from the elements. The Staff Office was heated during the winter, and the basement level stayed cool in the summer.

He couldn't really play, his mother used to, so over his lifetime he'd picked up a few short motifs, simple things like the introduction to _Für Elise_, but couldn't read music. He had a beautiful grand piano in his home, but it sat unused unless he had someone over who knew the art.

Out of curiosity he dusted off the cover, lifted it up, and played a few notes. It sounded reasonably good, to an untrained ear.

"Still works," he commented, closing it back up.

Tanya didn't say anything, just continued assessing it with apparent interest.

"Did you want to try?" he asked, opening his arm invitingly towards it. There weren't many things on this Earth he was better at than Tanya, but he'd wager this was one. He wouldn't mind the pleasure of feeling superior to her at something for once.

She shook her head quickly, and they promptly went back to their search, finding the document in question ten minutes later.

For her current assignment, Tanya would need access to the room on a repeated basis, so he left the door unlocked. _I should ask one of the secretaries to lend her a copy of the key for a few months_, he reminded himself, returning upstairs.

—

Tanya hadn't thought about playing an instrument in years. Maybe in her whole life as Tanya, in fact. But when she chanced upon the piano, she couldn't help but wonder.

The size of the General Staff was several times smaller than it was during the Empire's heyday, and the operation wasn't supposed to exist at all, so they no longer held meetings in the building with many outsiders, which meant it lacked for visitors as well. Some of the floors still felt reasonably full, but much of it remained empty on the average day. There was arguably more privacy down in a far-off and little-used basement room than there was in most private homes within the city. No one would ever hear her giving it a try.

When it comes to something like an instrument, it's not the type of thing I'd want to learn in the first place. Unless you're the reincarnation of Mozart, good luck making any money with it. It's the epitome of a waste of time. If I'm in the mood to listen to classical music, someone else can do the work of playing it for me.

It's not like you get much of a choice when you're in elementary school and your mother insists that you go to piano lessons. It was the only time I ever wished for a sibling, who could have been the recipient of the books she still treasured because of her fond memories of playing, which she wanted to pass on to the next generation. Through no choice of my own, I had to sit through practicing until I was old enough to start attending college prep and could excuse myself to make more productive use of my time.

Like with everything else, I wasn't gifted with any sort of inborn talent at music, so I never reached a level that was truly impressive. Of course, after ten years of practice, you'd have to be either an idiot or incorrigibly lazy to still be incapable of playing a few modestly ambitious pieces, so I could manage something like that.

The most ironic part of the whole situation was that as soon as I was old enough to exert some sort of free will over my extracurricular activities, I was old enough to realize what an absolute waste it would be to never play again. If you're going to go through the trouble of acquiring a skill, letting it languish is the worst sort of mockery of all the time invested in it. It might not have had much tangible financial value, but something that made me look like a well-rounded job candidate couldn't be ignored just because it was a bit annoying to keep up with.

Including something on your résumé that's less an embellishment than it is a bald-faced lie isn't the territory of serious professionals, so it goes without saying that I had to do some maintenance every so often to make sure I didn't embarrass myself if called upon to prove I was worthy of listing it on there. Working in HR gives you a real sense of how often job candidates grossly misrepresent themselves, adding things like a language they studied for one year in high school, or my personal favorite, claiming proficiency with spreadsheets because you know how two add two cells together.

Since I didn't want to compete in the same league as those people, trying to see how long I could go without someone calling my bluff, every so often I had to go out of my way to make sure I could at least be called adequate at my cultural activity of choice. A city as densely populated as Tokyo had an inconceivable number of conveniences, so it wasn't hard to find a business that catered to my needs, where I could rent a room with the necessary equipment for an hour or two to brush up.

Speaking of résumés, Tanya's is still suffering from a serious problem with one-dimensionality, so if I haven't forgotten everything, it might be worthwhile to put a bit of work into polishing my mediocre talent at piano back into a usable state. The last thing an orphaned former military officer needs is to appear uncultured in front of potential employers, and this is still the era where ladies of good standing are expected to have learned something in the fine arts category of skills.

I wouldn't want anyone to hire me specifically because I'm ladylike. That job would inevitably pay badly and have no shot of turning into a career. But signalling that you understand social norms and are willing to make some compromises when it comes to conforming to expectations is an important step in the hiring process. It gives every manager the comfort that you won't become an embarrassment to and future liability of the corporation. If playing a song or two on an instrument can get me the type of job where I don't have to theorize about countries invading one another, putting in the work is nothing.

Usually, I'm all for academic debate. I welcome thought experiments. Good decision-making skills are founded on a love of rational argument, even if it's simply an exercise in logic that will never make it into reality. I'd be happy to put my mind to working through most any possibility, but imagining how France could pull off a _blitzkrieg_ maneuver - or whatever it would be called in French - against Germany is something I don't want to do, even if it's only theoretical.

Partially, I'm to blame. I got a bit ahead of myself trying to prevent a repeat of the Maginot line. In theory, that idea wasn't as terrible as history made it out to be, but building a network of forts down your border sounds a bit like tempting fate. I know they say good fences make good neighbors, but equipping your fence with high-powered artillery pointed at your neighbor's yard is just going to make sure you never get along with them.

Building massive defensive fortifications is all but saying that you've given up on having friendly relations, and you're already planning there's going to be another war. If the country wants to invest money in dealing with our relationship with the Republic, it's much better spent fostering closer economic ties. France and Germany formed the backbone of the Eurozone, so the faster the Empire and Republic can stop their bickering, the closer we are to an economically-integrated, and thus peaceful, Europa.

Nobody goes to war with their largest trading partners. It puts everybody out of business, and without business, there's no way to fund the war and no support for the politicians trying to make it. I've learned a bit from the last few years though, so when it comes to things like war, expecting everyone to behave strictly rationally is a pipedream. In the event that the Republic wants to violate all logic and go back to war with the Empire, so long as we were doing a good bit of import-export business, it would be immediately obvious if they took a sudden turn towards self-sufficiency, and it wouldn't be a stretch to consider that a prelude to an invasion.

I would have been overjoyed to write up a plan for how to intertwine two economies so deeply going to war would be considered something like a double suicide. It would have been my pleasure to be the Army's business envoy, going around to the Imperial corporations that need assistance expanding operations in a foreign country. Instead, as was to be expected in a military full of war-obsessed zealots, they ignored that suggestion and showed interest in my offhand mention that it would be technically possible to invade through a dense forest. The day where I escape that sort of mindset by rejoining the private sector can't come fast enough.

Naturally, I wouldn't want high command getting any ideas that it might be easy to pull off such an invasion, so I made sure to pad the numbers a bit. It would be a risky move to begin with, so the more costly it looks in terms of troops and equipment, the better. They might be fond of war, but they aren't idiots. I don't mind tipping them off that they shouldn't assume the Republic will treat a neutral, buffer state like some sort of sacrosanct territory, but I wouldn't want to make it look like anything other than a huge and potentially costly gamble, or else my report on how the Republic could invade the Empire will turn into a guideline on how the Empire can invade the Republic.

Future mages can thank me for helping speed up the development of paratroopers. I don't expect to benefit from it myself, but it never hurts to be cautious. Technology is a perfectly acceptable substitute for magic when it comes to a rapid-response battalion. Mages will always be more useful, since they can fly under their own power, but the more soldiers who can drop in on a target from the sky, the less the risk and burden of that task falls on people like me.

Well, back to my present predicament, once I establish myself in the business world, I won't have to worry about being forced to imagine another war as a part of my job, or myself taking part in it. It's at least worth heading back down to that basement room later to see if Tanya has any hopes of impressing anyone with her dexterity.

At worst, I should still be able to read music. I can still read common kanji, or at least I could when it counted last year, sitting around the table with the Middle Kingdom's ambassador. There were two characters that were difficult to make out, especially glancing out of the corner of my eye, but largely, the note they passed between themselves was numerically-inclined. You aren't going to forget how to read something as basic as numbers just because a few years have passed since you've seen them.

I could have done without the near-heart attack when Lehrgen managed to guess correctly that I could read that slip of paper. It was an oversight not to have a prepared response, and I didn't manage to make any besides freezing in shock. Luckily, he found the idea too absurd after he said it out loud, and changed subjects, so I didn't have to suffer through coming up with an explanation that didn't sound crazy. Mainly, it's enjoyable to be around intelligent people, but every so often it's a bit dangerous.

_I'm really bad at this_, Tanya cringed, later that evening, when she'd dusted everything off and made her first effort at putting her hands to ivory keys. _Maybe it isn't even worth trying_, she reflected, the feeling that she'd lost another part of her old self causing an unwanted tightness in her gut.

There's no point in getting sentimental about it, but I wouldn't have minded the chance to feel a connection to my previous life. Precious few opportunities exist outside my own head. Really, I should have expected this outcome. Muscle memory has much more to do with playing an instrument than reading the notes, and that was all erased as soon as I became Tanya.

That being the case, there's no reason for me to give up just because the only two things I can play are one-finger renditions of the melodies to _Ode to Joy_ and _Sakura_. Re-establishing muscle memory isn't very difficult, it just takes practice. It's not like I have a family to get home to, so no one will be inconvenienced if I change my after-work schedule around. Even I won't be terribly inconvenienced. Video games won't be invented for a few decades, so there isn't much for me to do besides read. I enjoy it, but I can sacrifice a few hours a week to acquire Tanya a badge of sophistication if it helps her fit in with Berun's better-funded residents. No one will expect me to put on a concert, so if I can just get two or three songs down, that should be enough.

Tanya paged through the songbooks that had been left in the bench. They were virtually all good, Imperial classics, which didn't unduly limit her selection. Bach, Beethoven, Mozart, Brahms, Pachelbel, Mendelssohn, the list of famous composers hailing from Imperial territory was practically endless. Turning another page, she grinned as her eyes fell on the title.

There's no question that there are few things more pleasant in life than finding a way to minimize input while maximizing output. Some songs are easier to play than they look, and vice versa. Since reading music isn't my challenge, all I have to do is select a few things that appear complicated, but in reality don't require much skill when it comes to playing.

If I ever go to Leibzich, I'll have to remember to say my thanks to the tombstone of Herr Bach for writing _The Well-Tempered Clavier_. Back when I first learned to play the song in front of me, all I can remember wondering was how it ended up in the difficult section of the book, but at the moment, I can only wonder if he's written any other similarly simple pieces for me to track down.

If you were truly a beginner, even the _Prelude in C_ would look like a cause for despair. Measure after measure of sixteenth notes isn't kind on the eye if you aren't used to them. But realistically, the beat is repetitive and it's played slowly. On top of that, you never have to press down more than one finger at a time, at least until the very end.

My biggest obstacle is getting Tanya's hands to do what I want them to. I'd send them to the pillbox for insubordination and request replacements if I could. I have to look down almost every note to remind them where they are and how they're positioned. Picking up and moving them is enough of a struggle to be classed as one of the labors of Hercules, as getting them re-laid onto the right keys takes an unwieldy amount of time, interrupting any sort of flow I want to achieve. Crossing thumbs over or under middle fingers to move up and down feels unnatural and is the cause of much tripping. Tanya's hands are big enough to reach for an octave, but not practiced enough to hit the notes cleanly, so half the time some extra keys get depressed in the effort.

A song that requires little coordination or precision when it comes to things like chords, octaves, or using both hands simultaneously couldn't be more perfect for what I need. Overall, it requires very little movement up and down the scale, and no strange hand positions or crossing fingers, so I can't make a complete fool of myself. It's slow enough that if I have to think a little bit about which finger to press each time, it will come out sounding stilted, but probably won't be awful, even on the first few attempts. If I can find a few more songs like this and concentrate only on them, I should at least be able to impress one or two people with this unexpected talent in a relatively short amount of time. Then, all that's left to do is give them a run through every few weeks so I don't forget.

Smiling once again at having found an easy solution to her conundrum, Tanya set herself to work with the hope that it would soon be over with.

**October 4, 1929**

**General Staff Office, Imperial Capital Berun**

Leaving the building at an hour well past his usual time, and on a Friday likely the only one left there, General von Lehrgen got the fleeting sense that the General Staff Office was haunted. He didn't know anyone that had died in it, though in all probability, at least one person had. Indisputably, its occupants had orchestrated the deaths of many people over the years.

He wasn't a superstitious man, but unexplained phenomena have a way of making people doubt themselves when they encounter them. The noise was very soft, he hadn't heard it until he'd stopped walking to check a pocket, but he thought he heard music drifting up from somewhere. He never would have noticed it if there was other noise. Even the echo of his boots on the floor had been enough to cover it.

He walked slowly through the halls, trying to find the source, before remembering the piano that he'd come across on Monday in the basement. To the best of his knowledge, only one other person knew that room was open and contained the instrument. Walking softly was hard to do in leather boots, but he snuck up as quietly as he could to the room they'd found earlier in the week and eased the door open.

Tanya was sitting with her back to him, hands on the keys. _Where in the world did she learn this?_ He wondered that about a lot of things, but he knew for a fact that neither her orphanage nor any of her military accommodations had come furnished with a piano. It seemed patently impossible that she could have learned to play. It had been a few days since they found it, but that was barely enough for someone to familiarize themselves with which key was which.

He stood and listened outside the door, wondering if she'd stop once she knew someone was listening. She wasn't perfect. Not even close. She was reading out of a book that was a compilation of popular and playable classics. For the most part, those weren't pieces that required virtuosity to perform adequately. She had the timing down fairly well, but her fingers kept tripping over themselves every few measures, which would cause her to pause and mutter angrily to herself each time it happened.

In spite of the semi-frequent interruptions, she was entrancing to watch. She had an almost furious concentration about her, like she was determined to prove something. To whom he didn't know. Perhaps just herself. He didn't intrude on her practice, just waited for her to notice he was there. It took almost half an hour.

She finished the book she was reading out of and closed it. She played one last piece from memory, something he'd never heard, a very simple tune in a minor key that was utterly unlike any style he was accustomed to, something that would fit better in a repertoire of exotic music than standard Imperial pieces. Done, she stood up to put the book away, and then jumped when she saw him standing there, a rueful smile on his face. He'd been proven wrong again, and Tanya had found yet another thing she could best him in.

"How long have you been there, sir?" she asked suspiciously.

He looked at his watch. "About twenty-five minutes."

Her face began to flush. "I – we just found it earlier this week, I haven't had time to – if I'd known someone was listening I'd have chosen easier-,"

"You weren't flawless, but you were still quite enjoyable to listen to." She closed her mouth and lost her look of annoyance at that. "It's a bit comforting to know that you aren't perfect at everything on the first try," he laughed.

"There's plenty of things I can't do," she replied, with an uncommon degree of modesty.

"If you say so. I've yet to see you fail at something. Except for dancing, I suppose."

She glared at him for mentioning that, but smiled at the compliment anyway.

"Where on Earth did you learn to play?" he asked.

"Here and there," she said, with an intonation that made it clear she didn't want further questions. He asked anyway.

"That was well above the level of 'here and there', and even someone as smart as you can't pick up something out of _Das wohltemperierte Klavier_ in a bare handful of days," he insisted.

He'd come upon her playing the popular _Prelude in C_, and just looking at the page that had been illuminated under the harsh light of the bare bulbs suspended above them had been enough to make him dizzy with how many notes he saw. No one would call it a beginner piece, but she'd played it rather decently, in his opinion.

"I learned when I was younger," she replied.

_Yes, obviously. It could hardly be otherwise_, he thought to himself, growing irritated. He could see no reason she couldn't just tell him. If she was being contrary because he'd eavesdropped on something she'd felt was a private moment, it was a disappointingly childish reaction.

"Degurechaff, this isn't an inquisition, I'm just – I'm just genuinely curious. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't believe you've ever lived somewhere that housed a piano. Am I not allowed to have an interest in knowing how you came into this remarkable ability?"

"I'm glad you think me so talented, sir, but this is nothing more than a hobby I picked up in some free time," she said with finality, stubbornly refusing to give a straight answer.

He sighed again. He wondered what had happened that had breached her trust so immensely that she didn't even want to answer such a benign question. She was cagey about the strangest personal tidbits. She was transparent to a fault when it came to her most damning personality traits, but would turn obscure as you please over seemingly random and insignificant asides.

He'd think the problem was him, but so far as he could tell she was similarly reticent with everyone else, if not moreso. By her own admission, she trusted him to a degree that she extended to few others, though it was ultimately on false pretenses.

"Alright," he told her, holding up his hands, "I'm not trying to be bothersome. I just feel like..." he paused and assessed her for a moment. This would cross the careful boundary he'd maintained between having a strictly professional relationship with her and getting to know her as a person. But his passing interest had been stoked into a burning desire to know the truth simply due to her unwillingness to tell it.

Lehrgen had the unfortunate self-awareness to know that despite having mentally accused Tanya of acting immaturely, he was no better. Right now he was behaving like a child who had paused to look at a shiny toy and would have moved on a second later, but upon hearing his mother say "no," suddenly decided that he would throw a tantrum until he got it.

He had no proof that it was immaturity on her end anyway, though it certainly was on his. Tanya's understanding of interpersonal relationships was more than a bit flawed. It was entirely possible she was blissfully unaware of the way she came off. His own hesitation to engage her on any subject that wasn't work-related probably wasn't helping. Maybe if he was openly honest about the fact that her idiosyncrasies nagged at him, she'd give a straightforward answer.

He decided to continue with what he'd been saying, in the hopes that he could put to rest at least one of the oddities about her. "It's like the more I learn about you the less I know. You have a seemingly endless amount of knowledge and talents that appear almost out of thin air, I don't see where you would have had the time or resources to acquire them. All I'm asking is to understand, a little."

Tanya glanced around as though she was looking for an answer, swallowed audibly, then looked down at her feet. "I was just born like this," she muttered.

"I know," he sighed, at her implicit refusal to give him anything more. "It's just...I've been called a genius before. I was never arrogant enough to believe it. But even to the likes of me, your gifts are nearly beyond comprehension, and I'm...well, I just can't quite make sense of how it's possible."

A ghost of a smile appeared on her face, though she was still staring at the floor. "I can't quite understand why I ended up like this either."

"You know, it's almost enough to make me believe there really is a God," Lehrgen joked. "Who for reasons we'll never know, chose to reach down one day and bless you with truly extraordinary abilities."

_Though if he chose someone like you to heap His blessings on, that sounds more like a malevolent demon than anything else_ went unsaid. He used to believe that Tanya disproved the very existence of God, because no benevolent entity would allow her to be born. It was still more comforting to think that she was the result of a random accident of chance than any sort of higher power. For all the talk of mysterious ways, surely someone with more moral fiber than Tanya could have been selected as the recipient of true genius crossed with single-minded ambition.

_So much for that_, he thought, discouraged by her expression. Somehow the small jest he'd made had absolutely incensed her. Her head snapped up, her melancholy posture instantly transformed into an almost threatening one. Her eyes were practically on fire, her nostrils flared, lips pressed into a thin line. She was practically shaking with rage.

"With all due respect, sir, it would be more accurate to say I was cursed," she bit out.

She spun angrily on her heel and marched through the door, leaving him to turn over what he'd said over in his head a few times to figure out how it could have been taken offensively. He came up with nothing. Tanya had always been noted as being pious, so if anything, it should have been high praise.

_No wonder she understands the rest of the world so well_, Lehrgen sighed, making to leave the building for a second time. _After figuring out the workings of her own mind, everything else must seem simple._

**November 4, 1929**

**General Staff Office, Imperial Capital Berun**

_I don't understand_, Lehrgen thought to himself, watching Tanya practice the same songs she had the week before, which were the same as the week before that, getting steadily better each time she ran through them but not flying through the books that had been left by whomever had used the Staff Office's piano last. In fact, certain ones that she played sounded positively amateurish, but then the next one she might approach with some amount of mastery, so she wasn't even particularly good at playing everything in the set she'd dedicated herself to practicing.

He was careful not to have her notice him in the brief few minutes he came down to check on her progress, curious how long it would be until she could out-play the Empire's finest musicians. She'd been staying after work two or three evenings a week in the past month, never for more than an hour or so, to practice.

After getting no better explanation from her, he'd forced himself to acknowledge the possibility that Tanya was simply so precocious she could pick up both how to read and how to play a serious piece of music in four days. It was hard to accept, but as a basically normal person watching the progress of a true genius, it may have been foolish of him to place limits on her ability.

His recent observations, however, stood in complete opposition to that notion. She improved adeptly but not unusually rapidly. Not that he'd expected absolute proficiency in the matter of a week, but if that was her rate of learning, how was it possible, in spare moments collected over a short lifetime, that she had she gotten as good as she was?

If one accepted that she was a genius in this as in all things, then one could accept that in scattered lessons she had learned what would take others a year or more of dedicated practice. But if she also needed dedicated practice to improve, at what point could she have possibly had the time or place to reach the level she was at already?

It was an intractable problem. A living paradox, right before his eyes. As someone who firmly believed that the world was ruled by reason and logic, his inability to solve this puzzle bothered him to no end, to the point that he had to force himself to stop his clandestine visits and tell himself he was overthinking things, that he needed to let it go.

He couldn't read or play music, so there must be something he was missing, some pattern that was there but unknown to him. That explanation satisfied him enough to let him sleep at night, though it never did fully convince him.

* * *

_A/N Living back in Ye Olden Day when the dentist came at you sans novocaine is definitely a reason we should all be thankful we were born in the modern world. I think novocaine was around by this part of the 1900s but the adult population is probably still scarred from childhood experiences without it._

_Omake where Tanya was singing/playing along to the operatic part of Bohemian Rhapsody and Lehrgen thinks she's being possessed by the Devil, since they were not ready for it in 1929. Or one where Tanya tries to get a restraining order so that Lehrgen can't get close enough to ask inconvenient questions and put Tanya on the spot, only to find that restraining orders don't exist yet.  
_

_Just to clarify, Lehrgen is 50% mistaken here so what he thinks is a contradiction is less of one than it really is. Tanya's thoughts on the difficulty level of her chosen music are more reliable than his, and Prelude in C is not a fundamentally difficult piece of music to play. You would have no idea where to start if you'd never read music or learned which key corresponded to what note before, but it looks harder on paper than it is in practice._


	26. What's in a name?

.

**November 11, 1929**

**Free City of Dantzig**

Balmy weather was a rarity in the Empire. A few of its ports, down in the very south, could lay claim to having the sort of indolent climate that inclined one towards leaving work as early and as often as possible, but for the majority of the country, temperatures over twenty-five degrees were reserved for mid-summer highs.

The temperate weather enjoyed by most cities was by no means unpleasant to the average Imperial resident. More often than not, summer nights were cool enough to sleep comfortably, and in all but the coldest parts of winter, it made perfect weather for all manner of outdoor activities, swimming and sunbathing perhaps excepted.

Anyone who grew up in the heart of the Empire was similarly well used to seeing a semi-permanent overcast sky throughout the cooler months, especially those hailing from the northeasternly reaches. The land out there was not particularly hospitable, the farmers and miners that resided there no stranger to winters both harsh and long.

Erich von Lehrgen had grown up nearly as far north and east as the Empire went. Outside of Berun, the only other city he'd stayed in for some length of time was Londinium, which had a passingly similar climate to his home country. Despite an entire lifetime of preparation for facing cold winter days, the biting wind he stepped out into after disembarking the plane that had taken him to Dantzig made him want to turn immediately back around.

Unusual for mid-November, even up there, a cold snap had sent the temperature plunging several degrees below freezing, with even colder gusts blowing in off the sea. There was neither snow nor any threat of precipitation, but the sky was a steely gray, with not a hint of sunshine peeking through to provide a glow of warmth to the now-stateless city.

Dantzig had been one of the Empire's more profitable ports, and it remained an important hub of commercial activity. It was primarily peopled by Germanic-speaking residents, unlike the surrounding countryside, which had never stopped speaking Polaskan entirely, no matter how the Imperial government tried to enforce linguistic unity on the masses.

It was more politically palatable to cite the ethnic makeup of the city as the reason that Dantzig hadn't joined Polaska following the war, and had become a free and independent city-state in the aftermath. That the victorious nations, eager to see a Europa not beset by internal strife, had magnanimously extended the citizens the right to live under their own rule, not lorded over by a larger power.

To anyone who understood geopolitical power balances, the reasons behind the decision were far from idealistic. Instead of a beacon of hope for a new world order, Dantzig had been little more than a bargaining chip. The creation of Polaska had been lauded and welcomed by the Commonwealth, up until the moment the Federation made it clear it was to be nothing other than their puppet state. A new communist nation, and one of a not-insignificant size, had raised hackles all through Europa's ruling classes, who worried the contagion might spread among their own people. In an effort to appease their erstwhile allies, the Federation had ransomed Dantzig back, tendering the merchant city as payment for the Commonwealth's assistance in winning the war.

As soon as the treaty was signed, the Federation had begun to go back on their word, and Dantzig was now Polaskan on all but a technicality. The rail and port authorities had been silently turned over to Federation-approved commissioners, and ever since that news broke in the _Times, _it had become rather fashionable for the people of Londinium to lament that their country had joined the war on the wrong side.

Not that it mattered, now, a year and a half later. What could or should have happened was a moot point. It was easy to be contrarian when your side had no chance of becoming reality. Knowing that, Lehrgen always took the news he read with a grain of salt. Regardless, the fact that people were willing to express that opinion gave him hope that a return to friendly relations between the Commonwealth and the Empire wasn't terribly far into the future.

As far as repairing relations between the Federation and the Empire, which were sown with far more enmity and distrust, the return of the Empire's prisoners of war was the first step in the direction of diplomatic normalcy. Still, the Imperial Army hardly trusted the Federation to operate fairly, so before Lehrgen and his fellow officers had stepped off the plane, a security team had verified that everything was in order.

Heading down the stairs onto the frigid tarmac, he slightly regretted coming at all. He hadn't been on the original list of invitees. There was little need for spectators. Nothing beyond an officer of a respectable rank to greet the Federation, attended by enough soldiers to provide security, cross names off of lists, and direct their returned brethren into the right railcars, headed back to Berun where they'd be received, debriefed and discharged.

The only reason Lehrgen was there was for the benefit of the woman following him out of the airplane, who had muttered out an uncouth expletive as soon as she touched a bare hand to the cold metal railing of the staircase. A regular citizen couldn't exactly wander their way in, and though certain unusual privileges were extended to Tanya, she was an officer no longer, so there were limits to what was allowable. Lehrgen had volunteered himself as the officer in charge, and Romel had signed off on the baseless request that Tanya be allowed to accompany him.

Admittedly, it was a small thing. But Tanya making a personal entreaty to the Ispagnan ambassador in an effort to hasten her former adjutant's repatriation had marked the first time Lehrgen had seen her go out of her way to do something with no clear benefit to herself. Perhaps she had less kind-hearted reasons, but he couldn't come up with one besides an actual show of companionship.

Encouraging one of the precious few normal traits Tanya had ever displayed had seemed like a good idea, back when he'd first conceived of the notion. Huddling over a steaming cup of coffee after introducing himself to his Federation counterpart, he now wished he could be just about anywhere else. If he'd known in advance the weather would be this wretched, he'd have stayed in Berun and let Tanya figure out how and when to find Viktoriya on her own.

"You ready?" Lehrgen asked her after a few minutes, for lack of anything else to do during the hour's wait before the handoff officially started.

"I'd reckon I've seen worse than you have," she answered, with a half-smile.

There was no denying that. He'd seen his share of bodies and gruesome injuries, but nothing compared to the carnage Tanya had been involved in. He'd known his question was somewhere on the spectrum between pointless and ridiculous before he'd asked it, but with too many minutes to pass in the cold, standing on a barren airfield, there was little else to do aside from make conversation.

A generic _How was your weekend? _wasn't going to go anywhere with someone who kept to herself so much as Tanya did. He was unlikely to get any elaboration beyond _Fine. _He'd seen a few others try to make small talk with her at the beginning of a meeting. She bore with it, but her one-word responses and lack of reciprocation always screamed_ Get to the point._

"Anyhow, it's been a year and a half," she continued. "We aren't going to be seeing any festering wounds."

"That might not be the case," he sighed, deciding he owed her the truth. She'd learn it soon enough anyway.

He'd known from the moment he told Tanya that Viktoriya was alive that his statement should rightly have included a qualification. _Alive but_. Nobody knew, yet, the correct word to come after. _Alive but injured, alive but mentally shattered, alive but wishes she weren't. _If he had a bit more trust in Tanya, he would have told her months ago the same information that he'd been briefed on - _alive but in what condition, we don't know._

Ispagna had been allowed to serve as a neutral negotiator to secure the release of the Imperial prisoners, but the Federation hadn't given them permission, during the war or after, to see the prisoners in person. When possible, countries often advertised how beneficently they treated their captured foes. Even if it was staged, allowing a third party to tour a well-run camp or releasing a few photographs of seemingly content soldiers befriending their guards was a tool used to make enemy combatants consider surrendering a more attractive option than fighting.

If the Federation had gone so far as to hide their camps from international eyes, it didn't bode well. Many officers besides Lehrgen had likely withheld that same news until the last minute from women in their lives. Telling their wives and daughters that the sons and brothers and husbands they'd bade goodbye to were at that very moment likely undergoing some form of harsh punishment would only consume them with worry over something they had no power to change.

He hadn't avoided telling Tanya because he thought her fragile or given to panic. Of everyone he knew, he could hardly name someone more unshakeable. Rather than being too weak, she was much too strong. Strong enough not to fear standing alone against an entire army, ready to face down the Federation with no one at her side except orb and rifle if she felt it her patriotic duty to free her fellow citizens.

The likelihood that fervor would override reason in Degurechaff's mind was low, but there always had been an element of volatility to her. She could turn on a dime, suddenly veering away from predictable logic to follow the call of some impulse unknown to and unseen by the rest of them. It was too great a risk to take, for the sake of nothing but absolute candor.

Rightfully, it would have been impossible for her to get her hands back on the Type 95. Very few knew where it was, and fewer still could access it. But Tanya never had let things like that limit her. To think it would be impossible for her to pressure the right person into aiding her would be to vastly underestimate someone who'd never failed to exceed the limits of what he thought achievable.

Even had she done so, it wouldn't have started a new war. A lone actor already known to have a passion for barbarism, any infractions she committed wouldn't be ascribed to an official act of hostility by the Imperial Army. It would cause a small blip in diplomatic relations, but one that would be put to rest as soon as the government condemned it and made it clear there would be no retaliation for the execution of its wayward former soldier.

Lehrgen never thought he'd end up in the position of trying to save Tanya from herself, but she was too valuable to lose. Not just as a soldier, but as a citizen. If she could learn to apply her efforts in the right places, who knew what problems she'd be capable of solving? Recklessly imperiling herself for the sake of the Empire's pride was something he couldn't allow.

The most likely outcome, had he told her earlier, would have been complete and utter indifference. So long as no patriotic urges struck her, it was hard to imagine she cared deeply about the conditions the Imperial prisoners were being held in. In that case, telling her would have had no point. All it would have done was quash Lehrgen's growing hope that there was another side to Tanya, one that he could grow to approve of, maybe even admire under the right conditions.

Tanya had turned to look at him expectantly after his admission, and stood awaiting his response.

"The Federation never let any of the neutral countries in to inspect the camps," he told her, looking down at his cup in guilt over having hidden it for so long.

"What have you heard?" she asked sharply.

"Nothing," he muttered, "and that's the issue. For all we know they've been living in a communal paradise for the last nineteen months, but in my experience, it usually isn't a good sign if they don't want to let anyone in to see. I wanted to make sure you were prepared for that."

"Then may I ask why you didn't say anything before today?" she ground out between clenched teeth.

"I thought you knew," he deflected.

"And why would I have cause to know, if not from you?" she asked, voice tightly controlled.

He hadn't necessarily assumed that anyone else had told her, but it wasn't altogether impossible to think that someone would have. It's not as though he was the only person she spoke to in the office.

Despite herself, Tanya had come to form…not friendships, exactly, but companionable relationships, with some of the other staff besides he and Romel. Romel was almost always in some meeting or other, so she saw less of him than she might have liked. Though that was still more than Lehrgen would prefer.

She'd sung praises so high about the other man one time that Lehrgen had needed to catch himself before jokingly reminding her that their Chief of Staff was married, sure she wouldn't find the insinuation as entertaining as he did. He was almost surprised Romel had never tried to adopt her. He'd probably find her more fun to have around than his own children, and she'd certainly make for more interesting conversation over the dinner table.

He and Romel aside, the other soldiers weren't exactly idiots. Political connections helped, but no one was on the General Staff solely because of their family name. Tanya had a stricter idea of what constituted competence than the pickiest perfectionist Lehrgen had ever run across, so she still found fault with many an officer, but she got on well with a number of them. And though few and far between, there were people who could put up with her peculiar attitude.

While Lehrgen was glad to see Tanya develop relationships outside of just him, he also sometimes wondered if it was really a good thing to have people trusting her so implicitly. You always had to keep in mind who she was. Even he'd become troubled with it recently, and while he wanted to believe there was a decent side to her, believing that the monstrous parts of her were gone or the result of some misunderstanding was putting far too much faith in her.

Trust would only make her harder to extricate, make things nastier if his worst fears about her came true. He didn't need a revolt happening in the ranks as they divided into pro-Tanya and anti-Tanya camps. The pro-Tanya camp would be smaller, but as he'd seen with the troops in the old army, most people who liked Tanya followed her with an almost fanatical devotion. Her old battalion would have marched behind her straight into Hell, and maybe would have even made it back after a victorious campaign. The selection process for who she chose to associate with was stringent, so it would naturally be all of his most dangerously effective subordinates she won over.

"I thought Romel might have said something," he mumbled miserably under the weight of her irate stare. "And it didn't seem worth giving you something else to worry over."

He could expect she'd see reason, and that even if she wouldn't have worried, she'd appreciate that he was only being considerate.

The display of guilt placated her somewhat, and she released the angry breath she'd been holding in a long exhale.

"I understand," she said, finally. "It's because of what you saw at that state funeral, isn't it?"

_Excuse me, but if you could stay on topic it would be helpful_, he wanted to say. _The rest of us can't follow the strange twists your mind takes._

"You caught me in a...moment of weakness," she clarified. "I shouldn't have let myself give into it. Now you think I'm so pathetic I can't hear bad news. That was an extraordinary circumstance, so you don't have to worry it will ever happen again," she said, huffing with annoyance.

That was absolutely not the reason he'd withheld this information from her, but it dovetailed very well with the white lie he'd just told, that he'd done it out of concern for her emotional state. He was still basically certain those tears he'd seen rolling down her face had been faked, and if they were real, they'd probably been mourning the end of the war, and not the end of millions of lives.

He judged it very unlikely, but there was a chance that her tears had been genuine, that even though they might not come easily, she cried for the same reasons all the rest of them did. Just in case, it wouldn't hurt to tell her she didn't have to hide something so normal. Plus, telling her he didn't think she was capable of crying in earnest was as good as revealing that he'd spent years considering her inhuman in her capacity to absorb losses, among other things.

"It surprised me for a second," he admitted, since he knew she'd caught the look of shock on his face. "You were always one of our more stoic officers. But, well, you are a young woman, Tanya. There's nothing wrong with crying at a funeral."

A second later, it hit him that he'd just called her by her first name. Out loud. It shouldn't be anything notable, he'd known her for close to seven years at this point, and ever since she re-entered his life as a private citizen there had been no reason to continue referring to her by her last name. He called all the other non-enlisted women by their given names, including ones he only knew in passing.

It had felt natural, especially at first, to continue behaving as though she was still another officer, and it had come unconsciously to him. Over time it had become more of an effort, as against his own volition he began to slip away from thinking of her as some alien entity whose species was known as Degurechaff and of more as a person named Tanya. He'd noticed the change, had held it at bay as long as he could, but evidently the time had come to face up to his latest failure when it came to her.

He hated admitting it, even to himself, but back when he'd first realized what was happening, he'd briefly contemplated whether he could find a good reason to terminate her employment. He'd jumped at the opportunity to offload her onto Ugar, though that had fallen through. The only thing that had prevented him from outright firing her was that he had never found a way to properly say, _Sorry, but you're being let go because I'd really prefer to continue thinking of you as a questionably human monstrosity, and you're making that difficult for me. _You can't fire someone for the crime of being human.

_Stop making such a big deal over it_, he lectured himself. _It's just a name_. When he thought about the situation in reverse, though, he recanted that notion. Even just imagining her calling him "Erich" made him have to suppress an involuntary shudder from running up his spine. _Yes, but that's because I couldn't stand her for most of the time I've known her, _he reminded himself, deciding that he was overreacting after all. S_he's always thought we were on good terms. For all I know, she thinks it's odd that I kept calling her by her last name after she was stripped of her uniform._

He glanced at her to gauge her reaction, or see if she'd had one at all. _Never mind_. She looked shocked and…not offended, exactly, but it was safe to say that she found the experience as thoroughly unsettling as he did. At least the two of them were on the same page about something.

Lehrgen wasn't a man for small talk, but he had to fight against the impulse to bring up the bitterness of the coffee, how unusually cold it was, or that annoying twitch that one of the other officer's eyelids had been doing the entire plane ride. As little as he wanted to talk about any of those things, they were preferable to the most obvious topic of discussion.

Did he need to apologize for it? _Sorry I called you by your name, it won't happen again_, had to be one of the more peculiar things anyone had ever begged forgiveness for. He should ignore it. If they talked about it, that would only make it more awkward. It was best if they mutually and silently agreed not to acknowledge it.

Moments later, Tanya walked off a bit, and he saw her pouring her coffee on the ground. It wasn't quality coffee, but at least it was real. He'd personally seen her drink multiple cups of the worst ersatz stuff with only the barest of grimaces at the taste.

Lehrgen's shoulders relaxed with relief. Asking about a subject as innocuous as coffee would be a perfect way to ease out of the awkward silence. A few sentences of banter and they could drop it, but the silence afterwards would be comfortable.

—

Tanya wasn't a talkative person by nature. If she were to regret anything, it was usually saying too little instead of too much. But right now, she could only ask herself one question. _Why can't I keep my damned mouth shut?_

To say I'm annoyed that General von Lehrgen wasn't upfront with me about the possible condition of the POWs might be the understatement of the year. Logically, it wouldn't have made much difference, so I'm not bothered about it because I could have done something to change it if I'd had the chance.

He hands off classified information to me like it's nothing, so usually, there's a high level of trust between us. When I think about it, there's only one reason I can come up with that would have made him avoid this conversation, and that reason is so insulting I don't even want to contemplate it. When someone's actions implicitly say: _you're pathetic_, you're perfectly within your rights to be angry about it.

If he thought hearing some sob story about the tragic situation of our prisoners was going to precipitate some sort of agonized breakdown on my part, it's enough to make me want to punch something. I mean, how low can your opinion of me get? I can forgive him for not wanting me to ruin his jacket by crying all over it, but it's a bit harder to forgive him for thinking I'd do that in the first place.

Unless the Type 95 caused me to become an emotional trainwreck and no one ever told me about it, there's only a single instance that could have led him to believe I was so emotionally fragile I'd spend my days worrying tearily over captured soldiers. If crying had been enough to get me off the battlefield, I would have cried my eyes out from dawn until dusk every day until I was removed from it. But even if I'd wanted to, which I didn't, crying in the face of the enemy earns nothing but demerits for cowardice. Unless basic facial expressions mean something completely different in the Empire than they did in Japan, I always put on a brave face in front of other people.

Seriously, I cried one time, it was for a few seconds, and it was at no less of an occasion than a state funeral. In what world does that make me an over-emotional mess? The annoying part is, I wasn't the only one with tears in my eyes, so it couldn't have been just that. I've never had the opportunity to look at my crying face in the mirror, so instead of matching my expression to everyone else's like I thought I was doing, I must have looked horrendously aggrieved. Or else, it's just because I'm a woman now, so the instant I show any emotion it's assigned to some sort of inherent feminine frailty, which is even worse.

Honestly, maligning my character like that almost made me want to tell the truth. Of course, I mourned the sacrifice of millions of souls on the altar of irrationality, but I only cried to fit in with everyone else. Luckily, I stopped myself before I spilled that secret, and passed it off as being the result of extreme circumstances. The truth might have made me sound like some sort of unfeeling monster who didn't care that a vast swathe of her countrymen had died for the sake of something as stupid as national pride. No one in their right mind would want to employ someone like that, so I can kiss goodbye to my job if I give Lehrgen cause to suspect anything of the sort.

It would cause problems if one of my closest companions continued operating with a basic misunderstanding of my personality, so even though confronting a topic as awkward as how prone I am to tears was uncomfortable, it was best acknowledged and cleared up, so he knew not to expect any repeat performances.

I already have to suffer with everyone's misconception that I'm some sort of genius, and that's enough for me. I'm glad if people think highly of me, but writing it all off as some undeserved "blessing" instead of the result of hard work is just disrespectful. I wasn't born with anything except an undeserved amount of bad luck.

I don't exactly have a better way to explain it though, so I have to smile at people like they're complimenting me when they remark over my unusual intelligence. But it's impossible to smile when someone tells you to your face that you've made them believe in God, so the best I could do in that instance was to not completely lose my temper.

Originally, I never cared about other people's religious beliefs, at least as long as they didn't affect me. Interfering with the freedom of others to believe what they want is against my core value system. But if someone claiming to be God wants to personally mess with me, it's my right to mess with him back. Since he lacks all sense of professional ethics, he didn't hang around long enough to debate me properly. When a company's owner absolutely refuses to listen to reason, the logical next step is a proxy fight, so the shareholders of God, Inc. will kindly excuse me for doing my best to convince them to vote out their long-reigning CEO and chairman of the board.

I can sympathize with how Lehrgen might be a bit curious when it comes to certain things. As a curious person myself, I'd probably have the same types of questions, but as the person on the receiving end, they're difficult to answer satisfactorily. I'm always a little surprised by how willing everyone else is to move on after hearing a simple "nothing" when I've said something out of place. I'm careful about it, but it's impossible for anyone to never make a mistake.

Lehrgen's annoyingly sharp on most subjects, so for someone as intelligent as him to say that I've led him to a belief in God instead of a desire to understand the wonders of the human mind is troublesome. If I make any kind of a difference, I'd at least like for it to not be because I scored a goal for the wrong team. You'd think watching your own leaders throw an elementary-schooler into a trench would be enough to convince you that something like God can't exist, so I should have been a walking advertisement for abandoning faith.

Regardless of that unfortunate joke, Lehrgen was one of the only officers in the Army with a proper moral compass when it came to things like the fitness of children for battle, so I don't mind considering someone who is both smart and principled a sort of friend. For all the indignation I feel over today's events, his hesitation to break difficult news to me was probably an outgrowth of that same type of kindness, so this time, I didn't let my anger get the better of me, and was able to calmly explain that he doesn't need to worry about emotional reactions going forward.

Somehow, things got worse from there. Instead of relieving him of any concern that I'm given to bouts of hysteria, reminding him of the episode at the funeral made the mirage that I'm essentially still another officer falter enough for him to be reminded I'm a young girl, and then to call me by my first name.

Truthfully, I shouldn't make such a big deal out of it. Most of the women around the office use it, though the other officers follow Lehrgen's example and use my surname. Ugar's entire family called me Tanya. It's just my name, after all. I'm not particularly fond of it, but there's nothing wrong with it either. It's nothing special.

My problem is, I can't shake the feeling that this is somehow different. If he'd started calling me Tanya immediately, it would have taken some getting used to, but it would have been ultimately meaningless. If it only changed now, then it probably indicates he's thinking of me differently than he used to.

Tanya had to find a place to ditch her half-full cup of coffee, the caffeine an unhelpful addition to the heart-pounding anxiety she was already feeling. She had a horrible, sneaking suspicion she'd just immeasurably damaged her career. Instead of Lehrgen thinking of her as Degurechaff, subordinate officer, she was now Tanya, a woman.

This isn't an era where companies go about touting how diverse their boards of directors are, so I'd prefer that my gender not be the first quality people think of when they consider me for a job. If General von Lehrgen's future letter of recommendation for me amounts to something along the lines of _She's very competent...for a girl, _I really might need to cry over it.

I shouldn't overreact. There's nothing worse than losing your calm for no reason. I'll keep an eye on the situation, but as long as it's just a friendly gesture, it's not necessarily a bad thing. From the beginning, I wanted to be on good personal terms with my boss, since that brings along with it the chance that he'll go out of his way to help advance my career. On that level, this sudden change might even count as a success. If he continues treating me like I'm delicate I'll have to worry, but as long as he keeps stacking so many folders on my arms that sometimes I can't see over them, there's no reason to think I've lost any professional standing.

Anyway, I don't have much of an option for correcting Lehrgen back into calling me Degurechaff. _Sorry, you can't call me by my first name _comes across as more than passingly rude. I prefer to live in reality, so there's no use pretending I'm still in Japan, where that sort of statement would have a chance of making sense to people.

Really, it would have been better if I didn't come here to begin with. I'm not sure who it's benefiting. Having Visha back in Berun is something I've been looking forward to, of course. She was conscripted, so she'll commiserate with my trouble trying to find another job, since the Army wasn't her chosen career either. It's nice to have someone around who can understand you. She's a competent person, so it's possible she'll suggest a solution that I'm missing.

Still, I'm not sure what difference it will make if I'm here to watch her board a train back to the city. I'm not going to have a chance to talk to her, at most I'll just spot her in the crowd. Even that will be difficult. I'll have a hard time seeing over anyone, which means she'll also have a hard time noticing me.

I almost told Lehrgen not to bother bringing me along, but if he went out of his way to get me permission, turning it down would have been rude. People aren't likely to extend courtesies to you again if you don't act grateful when they do. Plus, I really was happy about it. If my boss wants to do me a favor, it can only be a good sign. Someone who's inclined to do that won't be impossible to convince to one day do me the favor of easing my transition out of the Army and into a cushy job in the private sector.

Returning from dumping out her coffee, Tanya took up her previous position in silence, sticking her now cold hands in her pockets. She'd put on the gloves she brought, but without the heat of the coffee coming through them, her fingers were growing painfully cold.

With no desire to pick up the threads of where her previous conversation left off, all that remained was to make some inane comment to launch them into a different topic of discussion. In that case, keeping her mouth shut was better.

Careful not to catch Lehrgen's eye, she stared blankly forward at the backs of the other Imperial soldiers, wondering if she was going to have to resort to counting down the seconds in her head to pass the time.

_Damn, _she thought, when she heard the intake of breath that indicated the man next to her was opening his mouth. _Can we please not talk any more about emotions?_

"I didn't think they made coffee too bitter for you," he commented.

Aware that her predilection for all types of coffee was so well-known it had become something of a joke among her battalion, Tanya hastened to come up with an explanation for why she'd needed to get rid of it. Lehrgen's own coffee had been poured from the same pot, so it wasn't like she could claim there was something wrong with it.

"Hearing what you said got my pulse going," she replied, somewhat truthfully. As devoted citizens of the Empire, soldiers hearing about maltreatment of their brothers-in-arms would be expected to feel the sort of fury that would set their heart to pounding, so it wouldn't be a strange statement to make.

Lehrgen gave her an approving nod to that sentiment, then turned back to face forward.

—

_She really is worried, _General von Lehrgen thought with wonder. _That, or she's angry. _But he'd seen her in varying states of rage plenty of times, and it had never prevented her from continuing to drink coffee like her blood was made out of it. If she had to go so far as to leave her cup half-drunk, it made more sense to believe it was because she was feeling a less familiar emotion. She hardly ever got anxious, so she might not be practiced in dealing with it.

It made Lehrgen a bit jealous to be reminded how rarely she suffered from nerves. He'd never considered himself anxiety-prone until he met her, but he'd become all too used to the symptoms, so he could understand what she was going through. Nothing besides a cold glass of water ever sounds appetizing when your heart is racing and your stomach is tied in knots.

_If she's so concerned over the other soldiers she has to give up coffee, there really is hope for Tanya, _he thought with renewed delight as he turned back to face forward. Suffering through the cold hadn't been a waste after all.

* * *

_A/N To me, nothing beats having these two misinterpret a handful of sentences that launches them into an internal soliloquy of distress...especially when it gets launched from them attempting to be nice to each other. Hopefully my extreme amounts of introspection don't get too boring, a lot of my action is all in people's heads. In order to get to Call Me By Your (Last) Name, we first have to go through the extreme challenge of Call Me By My Name, which unfortunately for our characters does not take place over the course of a sultry summer in the quaint town of Crema, but instead in a frigid industrial airpark, and later at an even less opportune venue.  
_

_Since I mention the Empire's geography in paragraph 1, here's a quick run-down/reminder. Underlines are canon names, non-underlined means I made it up. The Empire comprises: interwar Germany, Austria, Benelux [the Lowlands], Slovenia [Unredeemed Ildoa], and Croatia. Benelux has been promised future independence. Slovenia is disputed with Italy [Ildoa]. Prior to the war, the Empire also owned: ___Czechoslovakia [Ceskoslavia], now an independent country; Hungary [Imperial Dacia/Ungarin], which was ceded to GreaterRomania [Grand Duchy of Dacia]; Denmark [Imperial Norden/Danemark], which was ceded to SwedenNorway [Legadonia/the Entente]; and _the western half of interwar Poland [Polaska], now technically independent but a Soviet satellite. Polaska's eastern border matches modern Poland, not interwar Poland, interwar Poland contained parts of Belarus & Ukraine that are in canon part of the USSR [the Federation]. For geopolitical reference, USA=Unified States; China=Middle Kingdom; Japan=Akitsushima Dominion; Switzerland=Waldstatte; Spain+Portugal=Ispagna; France=The Republic; the UK=the Commonwealth/Albion; Albania+Greece+Turkey=Magna Rumeli (there are no maps that go further east, in my story they also rule the Levant/Arabia like the Ottoman Empire); there is an altered Yugoslavia on the maps, I'll call it Ugoslavija, it is Serbia+Bulgaria+Bosnia&Herz.+Montenegro+Kosovo+Macedonia. Presumably ruled by either the Bulgarian or Serbian crown. USSR/the Federation has the Baltic states. Finland was part of the USSR in the first few LNs but in the later ones appears to be independent, no one in-universe comments on how this happened...?_

_Last note, I am slowly going through and trying to fix/unify the writing style of some of the earlier chapters (3-14) to match the current one. NO plot-relevant details will be added or altered, but just in case someone rereads a chapter or notices weird word count fluctuations, that is why. Again to be clear, NO rereading necessary or recommended, this is just an FYI about a face-lift. Everyone with me today is a true veteran who suffered through my earliest attempts at writing, you paved the way for your future comrades to have a slightly easier time, they thank you for your sacrifice. And a happy belated Veterans' Day to all the actual veterans out there :)_


	27. You and me and a bottle of wine

.

_Note so that no one tracks me down and kills me...Visha is my fav and I wouldn't let anything terrible happen to her, you'll find out next chapter, it's not what you think, our characters just engage in their favorite hobby - jumping to conclusions without asking anyone._

**November 11, 1929**

**Free City of Dantzig**

Puffs of white vapor danced briefly in the air with each breath. A cold which had at first seemed tolerable, if unpleasant, was now seeping through gloves and boots to freeze fingers and toes, bringing a lively red to cheeks and noses as it stole their heat and left them numb. When standing immobile, even the heavy, military-issue coats sported by everyone visible, save one lone young woman, were unequal to the task of keeping out the bone-deep chill.

Outwardly, Brigadier General Erich von Lehrgen waited patiently for the release of the Empire's prisoners to commence. Internally, he was most impatient to have something take his mind off the bitter cold, but betraying any symptom of restlessness might cause a renewed effort at conversation, so he forced himself to stand still, impassively gazing towards the other side of the airfield.

He wanted distance from that last conversation before he spoke casually with Tanya again. Time during which the slight slip he'd made would fade into the unimportance it deserved, instead of oppressively overhanging every thought and word, riddling every interaction with an anxiety he knew to be irrational, as though his dedication to maintaining a healthy skepticism of her was made of so much glass, liable to shatter now that it showed a crack, instead of solid stone that could handle a few chips to the surface.

He glanced to his right and down, where Tanya's own breath swirled with each exhale, standing so motionless that it was the only sign she hadn't frozen into a statue. He wondered if she was fighting the same desire he was, to stamp feet or rub hands together, or even to break rank for no reason other than to wander aimlessly as a way of generating some heat.

A hand went into a deep pocket and drew out matches and cigarettes. Lehrgen took one of each from their respective packages, leaving the cigarette dangling from his mouth as he struck the match against the coarse edge of the book.

The wind whipped through and claimed the flame before he could put it to use. With a noise of frustration, he tossed the now useless splinter of wood aside and tried again.

It was only on his fourth attempt that the whoosh of a successful light wasn't extinguished as soon as he heard it. The choice vulgarity that had been waiting on his tongue, the same one Tanya had bit out as they left the plane, died before it made its way out, inhaled with the same breath he used to get the burn going at the end of the cigarette, swallowed in a puff of smoke.

Two draws, two long, grateful inhales, two slow exhales and the slight calm that accompanied an indulgence in his favorite habit began smoothing over frayed nerves. He'd lit the cigarette mostly to help pass the time, but the mild buzz didn't hurt. Neither did the extra bit of warmth, however small.

Pack nearly back in his pocket, his hand stilled.

_Don't be rude, _he lectured himself, when he realized he'd failed to offer the same boon he was now enjoying to his companion because he was avoiding conversation with her. He'd never known Tanya to smoke, but then again, there was plenty he didn't know about her. It was common courtesy to at least ask. On a day like today, even someone who didn't make a regular habit of it might still be grateful for the favor.

Before he could turn to see if she'd like one, she was on the move. Four steps, and she'd transferred from right side to left side, and now stood upwind of him, a crinkled nose marring her face.

_Fine then, _he thought, taking another puff. _If it bothers her that much, she can always say something_. He didn't mean to make life unpleasant for her, though it was a minor source of delight to think that she was suffering in silence, the same way he had to when it came to her disagreeable habits. Until she made explicit that it irked her, he had no plans on accommodating her any more than he already was.

Gaze returning forward and looking for a distraction, he looked across the tarmac to the Federation's soldiers. Without a doubt, they were dealing with the cold better. Their winter uniforms were made for temperatures worse than today's, and only a few of them looked unusually stiff.

There was a marked difference in professionalism between the two armies, visible to anyone who spared a glance both ways. The Imperial soldiers may have been frozen half to death, but they stood in position. The Federation's men were a more undisciplined bunch. They roamed around at will, so far from an ordered grouping that Lehrgen couldn't determine if they'd even been assigned positions to begin with, or if part of the communist philosophy was to do away with the concept of hierarchy and command, so important to a well-run army.

The wait began to grow interminable, as though time itself had frozen solid out on the desolate open plain, leaving them all to wait for an hour that would never come. Random gusts of arctic wind blew through every couple of minutes, crueler than any torture mankind had ever devised.

After another half hour, a great shuffling of feet began on the Federation's side, the men finally forming up into a semblance of a line, and the Imperial soldiers could finally move warm blood into stiff muscles as they formed a tighter cordon on their own side, opening space for their captives to come through.

The two countries involved distrusted each other deeply, which was attested to in the number of men present, most of which were simply there for security's sake. For good reason, the Empire couldn't rely on the Federation to operate according to common sense. They'd invaded with no pretext, and had done it at an illogical time, when the Empire had already defeated three powers, and was only dealing with the last of the Republican resistance.

_What did we ever do to you? _Lehrgen wondered, looking at the men across the way. They may have been enemies, but the Empire had never been underhanded enough to justify such suspicion. _Oh, that's right, _he sighed, moments later, eyes falling back down to the woman next to him. _Someone couldn't resist causing chaos when she'd only been sent to do a fly-by. _

The Federation hadn't called for her execution in the aftermath of the war, Tanya an unimportant and uncared for detail, a symptom of the imperialist-capitalist system and not a problem herself. On that count, Lehrgen's opinion differed, Tanya was an anomaly among anomalies, not explainable by something as simple as her upbringing, but with regards to the raid on Moskva, they weren't incorrect. Tanya had asked for and been given permission to go behind the lines, Lehrgen himself had even argued in her favor, though that had been out of ignorance. No one, he included, had imagined she'd do something so provocative.

It had been the Republic, citing Arene, that had wanted a summary execution. The Commonwealth had been more diplomatic, some of their best legal experts joining with the Empire's in opining that to hold Tanya responsible would be an unprecedented and vindictive overreach of judicial power, revising at will how laws were commonly applied.

She wasn't beloved by the Commonwealth, by any means. She'd managed to cause a bit of a falling out between them and the Unified States after she killed a few American citizens that were supposed to have been serving as an observation force. It could hardly be blamed on her, it was the Commonwealth who had put them in harm's way, but it was easy to pile accusations onto someone whose reputation was already in the gutter.

The Federation, of course, had no interest in prosecuting anyone for actual or perceived war crimes. They'd committed no few themselves. If they had cared about the fate of the Republic or its people, they would have joined the war effort far sooner.

Regardless, he and Tanya stood towards the back, nearer to the trains than anything. It would be best if she received as little notice as possible, so he'd kept her behind a thick wall of Imperial uniforms. A single man, pride still wounded after seeing the statue of his leader blown to bits and recognizing the slight blonde woman as the perpetrator, would be all it took for the tinderbox to explode.

In preternatural silence, the first prisoners walked from an empty plane hangar, four abreast, their boots the only sound as they crossed from Federation to Imperial control. Quietly and calmly, their names were taken and they were shown to a seat on the train, where a blanket and small snack awaited them, courtesy of tireless volunteers.

A fraction of the tension eased out, and from there an orderly and smooth line of men made their way from one side to another, registering themselves with the attending soldiers and boarding the trains that would take them home.

The prisoners were not in as bad a shape as Lehrgen had feared. That said, everyone was dressed for winter, so injuries any place other than the face would be practically invisible. Too many of them had haunted eyes that spoke of what they'd endured, and there were some who had difficulty walking, limping across with no help other than the men beside them. Whether that was from a previous injury or was due to one inflicted during the duration of their stay in the Federation was impossible to know at a glance.

An easy thirty centimeters taller than Tanya, Lehrgen spotted Viktoriya first. As soon as he saw the older woman, the slight regret he'd felt earlier in the day at having allowed Tanya to attend bloomed and grew tenfold. Had he known it would truly disturb her to see Viktoriya harmed, that she was really able to feel anxious about it and was not simply playing the dutiful friend, he wouldn't have brought her. A meeting like this, with bad blood on each side, wasn't a place for emotions.

The instant his eyes found Viktoriya, it was immediately obvious that something was off. He'd first noticed her because she was slowing down the procession. She leaned heavily on two others, unable to walk without ample help, and even with it slow and halting in her movements.

Lehrgen's heart went out to her, but for all he knew she'd injured her spine falling from the sky. It would be premature to accuse the Federation of having harmed her. He could only hope that Tanya realized the same. No matter where the fault lay, at this point it wasn't helpful to concentrate on anything but the future.

The Empire could boast what was arguably the most advanced scientific research staff in the world. The Commonwealth was their only true competition for that title, though the Unified States was fast catching up. Add to that the fact that Viktoriya was a mage, and one with a store of mana well above average, and there was no reason to think her prognosis was dire.

The only real trouble the medical team would face in putting her back to rights was in how long it had been since the initial injury occurred. If treatment began soon after and the patient was a mage, they could recover from near-fatal wounds back to perfect health within a few weeks, and in the case of immediate treatment often needed no more than a few hours. Tanya herself was a testament to that. He'd read the report on her extensive injuries after she self-destructed in Norden, and he doubted a single scar remained to remember them by.

Perhaps Viktoriya would never again be light on her feet, but there was no reason to think she would need assistance for the rest of her life. She'd need it for a few months, a few years at most, but in time could be as independent as she wished.

The physical impairment was not what worried him. What worried him was the vacant stare on her face. What had caused it was something he'd never be able to ask, at least not directly. None of the imagined scenarios were pleasant, and certain ones were unmentionable.

He hoped that Tanya had enough benevolence in her to listen and provide comfort, but didn't feel confident taking that gamble. Before today, he'd yet to see anything he'd describe as sympathy or compassion from the woman standing next to him, and how deep that ran was anyone's guess. At best she had the ability to be considerate when necessary, but whether it went beyond an academic understanding of the other person's suffering was hard to say.

Lehrgen made a mental note to call Elya. He didn't know what other female friends Viktoriya had, and if Elya could be believed, the two were sisters in all but blood. She didn't live in Berun, but there was no question she'd make the trip and stay as long as she could.

Tanya caught sight of her friend moments later. _Maybe I should give her more credit_, Lehrgen thought, watching her reaction.

"No," she said, with evident distress, repeating the word a few times. "Those bastards," she cursed underneath her breath, starting to move forward. "What gives them the right to do as they please?"

Lehrgen grabbed her arm, preventing her from going any further, from running over to where Serebryakov was being helped along through the middle of the miniature no-man's-land. At least, he assumed that was what she was trying to do. She may as well have been planning on killing as many of "those bastards" as she could manage with her bare hands. In either case, this wasn't a venue where breaking protocol would go unpunished.

By rights he should have no trouble keeping ahold of her. He had enough height and weight on her that under normal circumstances, it would be no contest. But even without an orb, mages could push extra strength into muscles. Lehrgen had never been clear on precisely how much, but he'd always been taught that as an enemy, they were dangerous until incapacitated. He assumed the boost was at least enough to break the grip he had on her. He could only hope that she didn't try too hard.

He didn't want to have to pick her up and throw her over his shoulders, mostly on account of the fact that it would alert everyone around them that there was a problem, but he glanced at the way she was positioned in case he needed to get a full-body hold on her quickly. It might be the only chance he had to restrain her before she could get the better of him. Luckily for the both of them, after a few tense seconds where he had to give serious contemplation to his exact level of willingness for returning home with shattered ribs on account of a well-placed elbow, she relaxed and stopped trying to move.

He loosened his grasp some, but kept his hand on her until Viktoriya was safely on the Empire's side of the line and they were free to see her.

He kept pace with Tanya as she headed across the pavement towards her friend. Her legs moved with haste, but her short stride made her easy to keep up with.

"Serebryakov, do you understand what I'm saying to you?" Tanya asked, as soon as they made it to the other woman's side, and Lehrgen had to keep himself from slapping his palm to his forehead. No greetings, just straight to the point. Perhaps she wasn't as concerned as he'd thought, was simply angry over seeing one of her own harmed.

Knowing that the prisoners might be returned in less than perfect condition, there were medical professionals on hand to deal with the worst of them. Viktoriya was now being loaded onto a crude stretcher, and the nurses looked askance at Tanya's indelicate interrogation.

Viktoriya didn't respond at first, but after a delay she realized it was her that Tanya was speaking to.

"Oh," was all she said for a second, though she did smile. "Lieutenant Colonel. You're here."

"Good, you remember me. Tell me exactly what-,"

Lehrgen reached up again and squeezed Tanya's arm pointedly. She turned to him, he shook his head, and thankfully she got the point. Or at least he thought she did. She paused for a second before drawing a sharp breath and saying "Ah," eyes widening as she backed off.

Viktoriya didn't take notice of the interaction. "Oh, that's nice," was all she said, before drifting back off into her head, gaze floating placidly past the two of them.

It was a relief to hear that she was aware enough to at least make an attempt at conversation, and had recognized Tanya immediately. There were some traumas that one probably never got over, but she hadn't lapsed into total despondency.

Tanya tried to follow Viktoriya onto the train, and he had to tug her back down the steps.

"That one's going directly to the hospital. The doctors aren't going to appreciate you being there when they need to work. She'll be put under anesthesia to do…whatever it is they do to get you mages to heal yourselves. You'd know better than I. You can't see her yet," he explained quickly, anticipating the angry barrage of questions he was going to receive.

Thankfully, Tanya didn't argue, and at his gesture followed him to their plane.

"When the doctors notify us that Viktoriya is able to have visitors, you may take the rest of the week off of work, and additional time as may be necessary," he told her.

She nodded absently, lost in her own thoughts. He wasn't keen on having any further conversation with her unless necessary, so affected an interest in the newspaper on the table in front of them, even though he'd already read it.

They touched down on Berun's own airfield two hours later, a car already there and waiting to drive them back to the General Staff building. They arrived with an hour to spare until the official end of the work day. Customarily, the two of them stayed at least another hour, but more often than not longer.

Under the circumstances, he usually would have told Tanya to go home early, but she seemed genuinely perturbed by what she'd seen. Her silence on the plane had been less contemplative than it had been completely withdrawn, her feet on the table and knees hugged into her chest. Sending her off to sit in a small apartment with no company but her own struck him as worse than continuing along as normal, allowing work to serve as some form of distraction.

He passed by her office to say goodnight a little after six-thirty in the evening. She was staring at the wall, lost in thought. It was the first time he'd ever come upon Tanya doing anything aside from enthusiastically applying herself to whatever task he'd put her up to, the first time something had outranked her work in terms of immediate importance.

He was on his way to get a bite of food before he went home. It had occurred to him about an hour ago that he'd never had lunch. She probably hadn't either. She had to go by his door to leave the building and he didn't remember seeing her go out, which was why he'd been sure she was still there.

In lieu of interrupting her, he turned around and left silently, before she noticed his presence. He returned a few minutes later with two pretzels in hand, warm and fresh and studded with salt, purchased from a cart on the street.

"I think we both skipped lunch," he said, without preamble, walking into the room with her.

She snapped back to the present and reflexively grabbed for one of her papers like she'd just put it down.

"Sorry, I was just-,"

"It's fine," he said, putting her food down in front of her.

Her reaction gave him a moment of self-doubt. _Does she think I'm going to reprimand her for not working every minute of the day? Including after-hours?_ he wondered, concerned that he'd mentioned something that would make her think that was the case. He'd admit his standards were higher and more particular than most people's, but he liked to think he wasn't so hard to work with that his subordinates lived in fear that they'd be taken to task for a spare moment of idle time.

_No, _he decided, after another second, _she's the problem here, not me. _Tanya was undoubtedly the sort of boss that would mark someone down for a brief and inconsequential slip-up, no matter how good the reason. She was projecting her own faults onto him, which he would like to kindly ask her to stop doing, but she was already having a tough day, so that would have to wait. Delivering a lecture on her flaws instead of showing her a touch of sympathy would make him just as bad as she was.

She chewed at her food listlessly, eyes concentrated on what was in front of her instead of engaging with him, offering him nothing besides a quiet word of thanks for the food.

Lehrgen inhaled as slowly as he could, then gave a long-suffering sigh. It was plain as day that she was preoccupied by unhappy thoughts. He should have checked on her earlier in the day, when some of the secretaries were still around. He could have asked one of them to listen to what troubled her and try to cheer her up.

Now, there was no one else around to switch places with him. For all his criticism of Tanya when it came to having the heart to do the right thing, he didn't exactly go out of his way to lend a shoulder to cry on himself.

He glanced up at the clock, watching the seconds tick by, waiting for her to finish eating so he could say goodbye without the sort of abrupt departure that might leave her feeling slighted, her first show of vulnerability ended with an implicit _no one cares. _

At the sound of her throat clearing, he cringed. He'd been hoping that the silent companionship was enough, that she wouldn't ask for more, wouldn't ask him to sit there as she sorted through unfamiliar feelings as though anyone aside from a professional could make sense of them.

"I'm alright," she said, as he took his eyes off the clock and shifted them to look at hers. "Today just made me think about my own...situation."

_Am I hearing things correctly? _Lehrgen asked himself, relief that she did not, in fact, need to do any sort of emotional unloading buried by what the rest of her sentence had implied. Thinking about herself sounded selfish, but to him, it couldn't have been better news.

It was entirely possible that up until now he'd been misreading her, that she wasn't as affected as he'd thought by today's events, that something else was on her mind. After watching her question her friend so callously, he'd begun to think he'd misconstrued something along the way. But if she was making a statement that she was imagining how it would feel to be in Viktoriya's place, there was no doubt. She was taking her first steps towards learning how to empathize with people in a completely normal way.

If Lehrgen didn't know better, he'd think Viktoriya was some kind of angel for being able to engender this sort of change in Tanya. Regrettably, during one of his visits to the front he'd seen her returning to her tent, absolutely drenched in blood, and when he'd asked with consternation what had happened she'd proudly reported that she'd severed someone's carotid artery with a shovel and it had gotten messy, so not to worry, none of the blood was hers. Lehrgen didn't consider himself an expert on all the religions of the world, but he was fairly certain he'd never heard of one in which heavenly spirits went around partially beheading people with blunt-edged objects, so he had to conclude that the former first lieutenant was only human.

_This calls for a celebration_, he thought, former desire to leave as quickly as feasible fading away.

"I'll be back in a minute," he told her, stepping out and back to his office.

He reached a hand in his pocket and pulled out his keys, thumbing through them until he found the right one, small, old, the gold plating flaking away, worn by many different hands. Crouching down, he slid it into the lock on one of his drawers, drawing out a bottle of his favorite vintage. He kept a few on hand for important visitors.

Tucking it under his arm, he took two glasses from the shelf above it, giving them a quick inspection to make sure there was no dust. Satisfied that they were clean as could be, he took the corkscrew and headed back.

With no way of admitting to Tanya why he'd been put into a good mood, he'd let her think it was nothing more than a sympathetic gesture, the typical sort of drink shared between friends the world over to mute painful memories. She was sixteen now, so there was no reason she couldn't have a glass or two of wine.

—

Tanya glanced up when General von Lehrgen re-entered her office, schooling her expression into careful neutrality as she saw what he'd brought back with him, not sure if she wanted to break into a smile, which would have been unsuitable after the events of the day, or groan in frustration.

Fine wine is one of life's greatest pleasures. When it came to drinking culture in Japan, beer and sake were the norm, but for me, nothing beats a good glass of red. Despite my appreciation of the drink, I rarely ever had more than a glass or two at a time, enough to enjoy but not enough to affect my health or my work performance the following day.

Of course, it was impossible to escape the occasional night of excess. Certain corporate functions made it harder to turn down a drink than to deal with the hangover the next morning. Unlike certain colleagues I could name, I never used that as an excuse for unprofessional behavior. I'm not unfamiliar with how to exercise caution when it comes to drinking with my boss.

It's a bit of a challenge to estimate how much wine counts as too much wine for Tanya. I'm a lot smaller than I used to be, so it's difficult to judge. Going off weight, as long as I stick to about half of what I considered my limit, I think I can expect not to make a fool of myself. As long as a second bottle isn't procured, there should be nothing wrong with having two or three glasses from this one.

In terms of the modern world of wine, I counted myself as fairly knowledgeable. I wouldn't go so far as to call myself a connoisseur, but I was educated enough not to pick blindly off a wine list, trying to guess at the quality based on the price.

That being said, I don't recognize the name on the bottle in front of me. The Empire isn't exactly known for its reds, so it's a relief that Lehrgen doesn't feel that patriotism needs to extend to pretending we make better wine than our former enemies. It's a Republican red, and only a year younger than I am, so you can almost guarantee it will be drinkable.

Waiting with anticipation as Lehrgen uncorked the bottle, she searched the label and discovered it was from Burgundia. With a satisfying pop, the task of opening it was finished, and the rich, acidic smell wafted towards her. She watched with false patience, fighting not to lean forward in eagerness, as a few sips worth were poured into a glass and offered to her to try.

She swirled the glass a few times, then held it to her lips, tipping it forward a bit, enough to cover her nose and give it a proper tasting, letting the smell help inform her taste buds.

"I should let it breathe for fifteen minutes or so," Lehrgen commented with an apologetic shrug, "but it's mature enough it shouldn't make a huge difference."

Tanya smiled slightly behind her glass at that. If Lehrgen knew enough to make a statement about how the age of the wine would affect its need for aeration, she could trust that he was at least serving her something half-decent.

Taking her first sip, she found the taste very much to her liking. It would have been tragic if her first taste of good red wine turned out to be something she hated. For politeness sake, she would have been compelled to drink at least a whole glass, and this way she didn't have to suffer through it while pretending it wasn't bad. She'd have no trouble consuming her half of the bottle.

Giving a nod of approval, she set her glass back down so it could be filled.

"You have good taste," she remarked, as Lehrgen poured first her portion and then his own.

"As do you, apparently," he chuckled, retaking his seat. "I didn't realize they'd added a class on wine-tasting during War College. It's a shame that was after my time."

"Ugar wanted to make sure I was fit for society," she replied, with a casual shrug.

"Funny," Lehrgen said, repeating the same process she just had, bringing the glass to his nose before taking a long sip. "He mentioned to me once that he didn't drink."

_You couldn't have brought up that you were that close with Ugar earlier? _Tanya grumbled internally, taking a slow swallow to give herself a second to come up with a response.

"It's no surprise he made an exception for you, really," Lehrgen continued with a sigh. "People always do."

"Well, he always helped me where he could," she commented with a gracious smile. "I suppose you two are alike in that way. I do appreciate having someone looking out for me."

_It looks weird if a grown man acts demure, _Tanya laughed to herself, as Lehrgen's head turned away to look somewhere else, uncomfortable at the implied compliment. _Seriously, you aren't a cute girl. Although if you piss off the wrong person, you might become one._

"I just wanted to do the right thing," he said after a moment. "And I - I never did ask, I should have, but - why did you enlist so early?"

"I saw the war coming one day," she explained, this question an easy one to answer. "It was hard to miss. There was no institution we were prouder of than our Army, and there are predictable consequences of that."

Lehrgen nodded.

"Conscripts don't exactly get their pick of the lot when it comes to assignments," she said carefully, toeing the line between admitting to a complete aversion to all forms of violence and giving the impression that she'd wanted to be tasked with the Empire's most dangerous missions. Lehrgen had made a career out of being in the Army, so telling him she'd like nothing more than to put him out of a job would only make him question why he was employing her in the first place.

"I thought if I was an officer I'd have a better chance to put myself in an advantageous position. We both know how that turned out," she said, giving a self-deprecating sniff of laughter over how badly that plan had failed.

Lehrgen sighed, taking his glasses off for a moment to rub a hand over his face. Tanya had no trouble understanding the display of frustration. For all the work both of them had put into getting her reassigned to a rear posting, neither had anything to show for it.

"That's what I thought," he said with a grimace. "Just figured it was worth asking to make sure."

_How thorough, _Tanya thought, smiling again as she took another sip. _It's no wonder he did so well in Personnel. _She knew from experience that there was nothing more important than having an understanding of what motivates each employee. When it came down to it, most people weren't asking what they could do for their company, but what their company could do for them. The beauty of the free market was in its ability to turn selfish impulses into a productive economy, improving everyone's quality of life for no reason other than that it was financially prudent to do so.

"About Ms. Serebryakov…" Lehrgen ventured after a moment.

"I'm fine," Tanya said quickly. "Really," she stressed, after he raised his eyebrows. "I'll be okay."

Tanya took another slow taste of the wine, letting it sit in her mouth to get the full experience, the sublime complexity, the perfect harmony between delicate fruit and deep, savory notes.

It's been far too many years since I've had the opportunity to relish the delicious product of a famous vineyard, and if my memory serves, I'm not sure if I ever had an Old World red aged to such perfection.

Personally, I was always more of a Malbec person, but I'm not going to turn down a good Pinot if it presents itself to me, especially as a re-introduction to wine. A fifteen-year-old vintage is mellow enough not to shock an amateur. There's no guarantee my taste in wine will have carried over anyway, and I was used to the Argentinian variety, which isn't going to make its way into Imperial shops anytime soon.

It's best for me not to linger over my glass too long, however much I want to relax and not rush through. I don't need to give Lehrgen any more reasons to think I'm the sort of person who gets easily overcome by emotions. He sat there like he was waiting for me to say something, and as soon as I indicated that I didn't need to, it's like he decided I have repressed feelings to talk about so broke out some wine. He even turned the conversation back that direction after we'd left it, so I can only expect he'll continue to try.

The offer of sympathy is kind, but it puts me in an awkward position. Obviously, he remains unconvinced of my ability to handle ugly truths. He even went so far as to keep his hand on my arm once we saw Visha, as if I needed to be steadied. You'd think he'd realize that if I were prone to fainting, I would have done it long ago.

More than being demeaning, it was bothersome because I was trying to move into a better spot for Visha to see me and realize a friendly face was there in the crowd, and I couldn't very well go anywhere with someone attached to me. I could have pulled harder, but that wasn't the sort of place where one could cause a disturbance without severe consequences, so I eventually gave up.

I'll admit that I did lose my head a bit when I first saw her. She looked about how I imagine I did that time I almost became a plaything of Being X, and for a few minutes I thought that he and his cronies had decided to ruin someone else's life after realizing they weren't going to get anywhere with me. He's been leaving me alone recently, so naturally I have to wonder what he's been up to. It's the same as being a parent who's realized their toddler has been quiet for too long, which probably means they're off making their magnum opus on one of the walls in permanent marker.

On top of witnessing the very moment I lost my composure, Lehrgen caught me in the middle of combing through my memories to see if there's been any subtle interference by Being X since the war ended, and to what degree the effects of the Type 95 are fading with time, neither of which I succeeded in coming up with a definitive answer to.

I can hope that good-for-nothing went and forgot about me, since seeing a project through to completion isn't likely to be one of his strengths. But if he has more shady plans for forcing me to have faith, gathering intelligence is the first step to avoiding trouble, so it deserved a thorough consideration. I made the mistake of letting it distract me from my work. It might be after hours, but it's never a good look when your boss finds you daydreaming, especially after today's successive failures to rid him of any doubt over my dependability.

Of course, it was upsetting to see the toll that Visha's captivity took on her. It was unexpectedly disheartening, but after a moment I realized the reason I was so distraught - as the person who trained her up from nothing, seeing all my hard work go down the drain, and at the hands of communists, no less, is hard to bear.

Wallowing over it isn't going to change what happened. I couldn't prevent myself from brooding a bit on the plane, but that's only natural. When you've worked on a project for years and you're told it's been scrapped, anyone would feel down. I won't let myself engage in self-pity any more than I already have, since on top of being unproductive, Visha is an incredibly capable individual who managed to survive the worst of the war with a smile on her face. I should have no doubt that with a little time and effort she will be back to normal.

If I said that out loud, anyone would think I'm severely lacking in the sympathy department, especially after my earlier behavior. Concentrated on making sure my supernatural persecutors weren't playing dirty, I treated a situation that might be very delicate without much tact. It's nothing to be proud of, but human beings can dream up better ways of inflicting harm on each other than whatever passes for creativity in Being X's mind, so I shouldn't have needed Lehrgen's intervention to remember that devil didn't necessarily have anything to do with it.

I can't change the past, but I'm more than happy to help Visha make a better future for herself. I'm feeling unusually enthusiastic about the prospect of inconveniencing myself, but nothing is worse than seeing bright talent go to waste. It's my duty as the person who fostered her growth from the pale, shaking girl who couldn't do anything but fly behind me into one of the Empire's most elite soldiers to get her back on track. I know her potential better than anyone else, so it's no surprise that I'm excited to get another chance to watch it develop.

In a way, you could even say it's my fault Visha got injured in the first place. If she hadn't gotten stuck with me, no doubt someone as smart as her could have found a way to get into a safer place than a rapid-response battalion. Letting other people deal with the fallout from your actions instead of taking steps to fix it yourself is something I can't tolerate, so in fairness, I have to be responsible for her until she's back on her feet.

It's unconscionable for a person as remarkable as Visha to be consigned to do nothing but be pitied for the rest of her life. As her friend, I can't stand by and let that happen. I don't mind putting in some work if it's for a good cause. In the end, it will be worth having her back to her clever, quick-witted self, the type of person who it's enjoyable to spend time with, who will contribute to anything she wants to put her mind to.

In this instance, I'll concede that I've finally found something good to say about being turned into a woman. If it ends up coming to discussion of potentially difficult subjects, it will be much easier for Visha to talk to me this way. I don't consider myself very feminine, but at least outwardly I project the image of someone who can understand her situation.

That aside, I know I'm not the best person to talk with when it comes to providing emotional comfort. Mouthing off meaningless platitudes on repeat isn't something I'm interested in doing. But, I'm perfectly capable of listening without interrupting, and if I absolutely need to, I can pat someone's back while they cry, so hopefully that's enough.

Tanya almost sighed, but caught herself. She didn't want to do anything that made her appear upset, and give Lehrgen reason to continue thinking she was fragile. She took a healthy sip of wine to occupy herself. If she was drinking, she couldn't be expected to talk, so although it was a crying shame not to slowly savor the fine vintage, she planned on finishing her half of the wine as quickly as possible.

—

Lehrgen watched with consternation as Tanya drained her cup, wanting to complain that she was treating an expensive glass of wine like it was the house red at a village pub, but kept that thought to himself and poured her another when she finished. And another not so long later.

Despite saying she didn't need to talk, obviously she did, or she wouldn't have begun drinking his wine like it was so much water as soon as he brought up Viktoriya again. He couldn't find it in him to be annoyed at the waste of a good bottle, though.

In part, it was true that she'd only confirmed that he'd been right about her from the very beginning, which wasn't something he could call good news. He couldn't pretend it hadn't rankled his nerves a little that she'd had the gall to laugh in his face over how successful she'd been at winning the assignments she'd wanted.

But going by her response to the mention of Viktoriya, what he'd been wrong in was to think that her ferociously battle-hungry side was all there was to her. There was no way she was the type of person that knocked back multiple glasses of wine in an hour as a matter of course. Logically, it was a response to seeing her friend in bad condition. Maybe it was buried deep, maybe it was only directed at one person, but somewhere in there she was capable of true compassion. He couldn't convince himself this was a show she was putting on to pretend she was upset.

_Why do you have to be so complicated? _he wondered a few minutes later, holding open the door of a cab so the woman in question could climb in. _It would be much easier if you were malicious through and through. _

"If you need the day off tomorrow…" he began, thinking ahead to how surly she might be under the influence of a hangover.

She paused as she was climbing in, straightening herself back up to talk.

"General," she said, clearing her throat, "Just so there's no misunderstanding, I hope I haven't done anything to make you think I'm not capable of doing my work properly."

"Quite the opposite," he reassured her. "But you're too valuable not to have someone looking after you."

_Though it's really the other employees I'm looking after, _Lehrgen thought as he shut her door and watched her taxi drive away, stepping off the curb so he could wave down another for himself. There was no doubt that if she was in a bad mood tomorrow Tanya could make someone at the office cry, no matter that most of them were men twice or more her age.

* * *

_A/N Ok so you probably don't want advice on how to live your life from a fanfic author, but I feel compelled to mention that if you've never had a glass/bottle of well-aged Bordeaux, Burgundy, Barolo, idk why all B wines are coming to me, going with the theme, aged Beaujolais is usually a bad idea, anyway, a properly-aged red from both a good vintage and a good vineyard is an extremely different experience than drinking a $16 bottle of a red blend, it's worth the splurge to try it once (even better, be like Tanya and get someone else to pay for it). _

_Readers, next Thursday is Thanksgiving, and while I am very thankful for all of you, I want to let you know ahead of time that unless something changes, I plan on skipping my next update, so it will be two weeks until you hear from me again. Unfortunately, my ability to follow directions and Google solutions to kitchen issues has resulted in me being made the main cook over the past 3 years, so I am no longer the person assigned to peel so many potatoes it looks like army rations, but the primary organizer for a 27-person meal, and half of those people are staying in/around the area for the entire week and I have to help feed all of them for that whole time/do family things together/share a bedroom with two other people. To all my fellow Americans, Happy Thanksgiving and don't get trampled on Black Friday._

_Thanks to Acerman and GrapeFanta for ideas and assistance on this chapter!_


	28. Mamma Mia!

.

**November 23, 1929**

**Central Military Hospital, Imperial Capital Berun**

A leg, creamy pale and mostly bare, kicked out reflexively at the light tap of a rubber hammer, the muscles contracting automatically, a knee-jerk reaction in its truest form.

A nurse watched, scribbling a few notes, as the motion was repeated on the other leg.

"Weak," the doctor said, patting muscles wasted from lack of use, "but improving."

By nature, Tanya couldn't be described as someone given to excessive gawking. Nevertheless, she observed the process intently, her attention caught by a sight heretofore relegated to memory. Had she been in the habit of socializing in Berun's nightclubs, perhaps it wouldn't have given her such a jolt of surprise, but as it stood, it had been so long since she'd seen legs like Visha's in person that her curiosity had gotten the better of her.

_How strange, _she mused, as she absently reached down and lifted the hem of her pants, brushing a hand up her own shin. _It almost looks unnatural to me now. _

Well, in point of fact, there isn't anything natural about hairless legs. In my previous life, my unshorn state would be considered something akin to a radical political statement, but for now, it isn't something anyone worries about. Still - it's hard to believe that I didn't notice before. When it came to women, I considered this less an expression of femininity than a matter of basic hygiene. Clearly, it isn't, but now that I've registered it I can't help imagining the disdainful reaction my past self would have had.

Regular depilatory efforts haven't become the norm yet, so all the other women I've seen - from the older girls at the orphanage to the small class of female cadets in OCS to Visha herself - haven't taken up the practice. It's honestly amazing how easily I stopped thinking of some natural growth as inherently objectionable.

Hemlines might be rising, but for all the sensational fanfare that comes along with it, in polite society, what's revealed underneath is in most cases no more exciting than a matronly pair of stockings. Frankly, the men of this era must be rather desperate if that's enough to cause wandering eyes, so maybe I'm better off not being one of them. In this environment, there's little need for women to concern themselves with making their legs look presentable.

"It's easier for surgery if there's nothing there," the nurse explained, with a knowing nod at Visha's clean-shaven legs, snapping Tanya out of her bemused rumination on current beauty standards. By now, the doctor was packing up his tools, placing them meticulously back into his bag.

"Ladies," he said, dipping his head to the two young women in the room with him as he took his leave.

"Thank you, doctor," Visha said softly, allowing the nurse to help re-adjust her position on the bed and cover her with a well-worn blanket.

Tanya rose with him, following him out the door.

"A minute, if you would," she requested. Dr. Walter Eichler turned back to look at her, and Tanya stepped closer to the wall, removing herself as a disturbance from the hallway's traffic flow. The doctor followed her example.

"I'd like to discuss the treatment plan for Serebryakov," Tanya requested.

"No need to worry, Ms. Degurechaff," Eichler responded with a smile. "She's in good hands."

"Still, if I could see it…?"

"Ms. Degurechaff, please trust that I know what's best for my patient," came the reply, with a harrumph of indignation.

Tanya's hand twitched, wanting to pinch the bridge of her nose at the petulant tone, but she stilled it, clenching her fist behind her back instead.

Seriously, what is this, a God complex or something? I already have to deal with one of those, and that's more than enough to go around, even taking into account both of my lifetimes. A professional who can't stand up to a little skill verification doesn't deserve their title. If you think you're so infallible as to be above question, it probably means you haven't learned anything new since you graduated university.

Largely, doctors haven't gotten used to patients with anything beyond a relatively rudimentary level of medical knowledge. Googling your symptoms goes something more like hunting through thousands of pages worth of books, so most people have no option besides taking medical practitioners at their word. If you don't, you're treated like a real pain for asking a few questions, instead of applauded for desiring some level of personal efficacy over the success of your treatment.

Information is the foundation of productivity and process improvement, so for Visha to make progress, there's no question that the more we know, the better. Keeping someone company is nice in theory, but sitting in a chair next to her bed while I read a book isn't going to do either of us any good. I'm not in the business of wasting my free time, so I may as well make myself useful while I'm there, which is impossible if I don't understand a basic recovery timeline and important milestones.

In the best case scenario, socializing for work is plain awkward, but I don't mind keeping the company of certain intelligent and interesting people I meet through it. It was pure luck I was assigned an adjutant who didn't bore me to death. It might be greedy, but I'd like for Visha to return to making her usual witty turns of phrase as soon as possible. Plus, the faster she's back on her feet, the faster I'll be enjoying her homebrewed coffee again. No one can blame me for being interested in seeing what she can do with quality ingredients at hand. I'll have to be careful not to become addicted, or next thing I know she'll realize she could make good money charging me for it.

"Apologies, doctor, but how can I be expected to be helpful to Serebryakov if I don't know what's going on?" Tanya asked, forcing a false smile to her face.

Eichler's demeanor changed instantly from peeved to patronizing, a grandfatherly smile peeking out from under his thick mustache. Tanya could practically hear the thought going through his head - _it's cute that this little girl thinks she can help, _as though she were a child thinking she could make a bruise heal faster by kissing it.

"Keeping her company is the most you can do for her. Everything else is just a matter of time."

"If you would show me the physical therapy routines, I could-"

"The nurses are there for that," Eichler interrupted. "She can't be at it all day, she needs time to recover."

Tanya gave a sigh of defeated annoyance.

"If you'd like to do something nice for her, get her a present for the holidays," he suggested. "Even adults aren't immune to hoping Father Christmas will stop by. Now if you don't mind, I have other patients to see."

Tanya let herself back into Visha's room after the dismissal, resettling herself into the chair next to the bed.

For some people, being told they're free to sit on their hands and contribute nothing is like winning the jackpot. I'm no workaholic, but if I'm at work, I'd much rather be occupied than waste my time loafing around. This is no different. I know the doctor meant it helpfully, but suggesting that the best I can do is buy a Christmas present is almost offensive. Recognizing your limits is one thing, but I don't want my usefulness put on the same level as someone who takes 364 days off a year.

I can make pointless conversation when I need to, but the goal is to get Visha's mental capacity to improve, not deteriorate. I'm not going to take responsibility for turning her into an incorrigible gossip by filling her head with nonsensical chatter. Elya had a knack for finding ways to entertain and distract her that were interesting without being complicated, but she left yesterday to get back to work.

In vain, Tanya glanced around the room, trying to find something worthy of a conversation topic. Small and austere, it provided little in the way of inspiration, although at the very least it wasn't as aseptic as modern hospitals tended to be. There was neither the constant beep of machinery nor the smell of harsh chemicals competing over which could cause a headache more quickly. The chair she was sitting on was old and worn, but had been upholstered with real fabric instead of the marginally off-putting shades of vinyl that she used to associate with clinical settings.

The vase of now-wilting flowers that Elya had brought on her first visit was the only personal touch in the room.

Tanya blew a piece of hair out of her face and cleared her throat to speak, deciding to start by asking if Visha would like any of her possessions brought by. She knew a scattering of information about Visha's family, enough to know that most of her things had been left in the care of relatives who lived outside the city. Though by now, Visha had likely outgrown the clothes and stuffed animals she'd left behind. Still, it would hardly be much trouble to write them a letter requesting that they drop off a few books or family pictures.

She waited a few seconds for Visha to acknowledge her. "Serebryakov," she finally said after a few seconds, which succeeded in getting her attention.

"Sorry," Visha blushed.

"I can contact your relatives if you'd like any of your old things back," Tanya offered.

Visha shook her head. "I'm not even sure what I'd want anymore."

"Ah," Tanya faltered, the discussion dying out almost as soon as it had begun, silence returning to the room.

_What now? _she wondered, looking down at her hands. Her idle thoughts were of little help and not worth sharing. _I think I'll trim my nails when I get home _didn't make for stimulating debate. Worse, Visha might try to convince her to paint them.

"I can't make a conversation out of nothing like Elya can," she said apologetically. "But if you'd like, I can tell you about how I've passed the time since the war ended. I can't promise it will be very interesting, but-,"

"Of course I'd enjoy it," Visha said emphatically. "You _are _an interesting person, Lieutenant Colonel. Even if you don't think so."

"I'm not a lieutenant colonel anymore," Tanya reminded her.

"Oh. Right. You still look like you're half in uniform; it's a bit easy to forget you aren't part of the Army anymore."

"Well, I am still working for the Army," Tanya conceded. "Colonel von Lehrgen - he's Brigadier General, now, hired me after I couldn't find work elsewhere," she admitted with a grimace.

"You know, the two of us wondered what you'd do after the war," Visha said, her voice tinkling with laughter.

"When?" Tanya asked, trying to keep any sharpness out of her tone. No matter that both had likely had good intentions in discussing her future, she didn't like being talked about behind her back.

"That time at the ball. A year - no - three?" Visha frowned, looking down and beginning to count on her fingers.

"Almost two," Tanya corrected.

"Sorry," her friend repeated. "It was hard for me to keep track of time. Sometimes the days all ran together, and other times it felt like it would never end."

Tanya paused for a second, wondering if Visha would go on. She hadn't spoken much yet about what had befallen her during her days held captive.

No further information was forthcoming, so before the silence could return, tense and fraught with unspoken questions, filling Tanya's usually introspective mind with unwanted ruminations, she launched back into describing her career.

"Because of my age, I can't be part of the Army, so my position is somewhat unofficial. I'm dabbling in a little bit of everything, now," Tanya explained.

Visha's eyes didn't come back to meet hers, staring blankly forward instead.

"Serebryakov," she said again, this time with a tap to her shoulder, by now used to Visha's tendency to drift off mid-conversation, especially if there was a lull. Once her companion refocused, Tanya began anew.

An hour and several interruptions later, Tanya had reached what was sure to be the most important event of the past year in Visha's mind - their mutual friend's wedding.

"Weiss told me to pass along his apologies that he couldn't invite you to his wedding," she joked. "He was married in May."

Her pronouncement failed to achieve the desired effect. Or perhaps not the desired effect, Tanya was completely positive she'd never once _desired _to hear someone shriek indignantly right next to her ear, so it was better to say that it didn't have the expected effect.

Tanya sighed, once again bringing Visha back to the present. "Serebryakov, did you hear me?"

"Ahh...you were talking about the Ispagnan ambassador?" Visha said, eyes glancing around as she tried to remember, as though the room could somehow provide her with an answer, its walls echoing back what Tanya might have said.

Deciding that whatever else she'd missed had been unimportant, Tanya didn't backtrack. "Weiss got married to that girl he couldn't shut up about."

Visha's face screwed up like she'd just bitten into a lemon, crossing her arms with a huff, thankfully refraining from any strident objections. "He couldn't have waited for me?"

Tanya shook her head. "He has a baby due...let's see…" she paused and began trying to tick the months off on her fingers, eventually giving up with a shrug. "Should be soon."

Visha's face broke into a radiant smile. "Oh how lucky! We'll have to go see the baby as soon as we can." she exclaimed.

"Yes, sure," Tanya promised. She'd have to see it one day, and it would be better for her if Visha was along. The other woman could do the hard work of listening to the new parents talk about their child as though it was the only human to have ever rolled over on its own, then do Tanya's share of the fawning and cooing when the baby was brought out. Plus, it would be good to give her something to look forward to, a reason to improve as quickly as possible so that she could travel.

Tanya couldn't pretend to be surprised that Visha loved children, although she'd never heard her talk about it before. She was patient and nurturing, and just as importantly, she wasn't afraid of a little mess.

"Did you meet his family at all?" Visha asked. "There were...what...ten of them?"

"Twelve," Tanya said, with a disbelieving shake of her head. "And I stayed with them for a week."

"Oh, good. From what it was sounding like you don't do anything but work."

"I'm not there all the time," Tanya protested. "But Lehrgen does like to work late."

"I suppose you two are close now."

"I guess," Tanya shrugged.

"I wouldn't mind getting to know him better," Visha commented. "That way we can all be friends."

"If you want."

"...he isn't married, is he?"

_That's going a little beyond being friends, _Tanya muttered to herself.

"I don't think so," she answered. "And I'm sure there's a reason."

According to the gossip I've heard among the secretaries, the reason is just that Lehrgen is as particular about women as he is about everything else. That could be nothing more than the speculation of women trying to figure out why he hasn't made a pass at any of them. From personal experience, I can confidently state that some people simply aren't interested in making inappropriate overtures to their coworkers, but if the other women are right about it being an issue of taste, Visha would likely pass whatever unreasonably high standards he's setting.

Really, I shouldn't come between Visha and a good match. Lehrgen could probably provide her with a good life. But as an officer's wife, she'd have to give up any hope of having a career. Withdrawing Visha from the workforce like that is an act of corporate warfare. I won't stand by while someone steals my best employee. I don't mean to force Visha into serving as my permanent adjutant, but she'd be a smart addition to any workplace. Of course, I'd prefer to continue working with someone who I know I can count on instead of sorting through new coworkers to determine if any of them are up to snuff, so once I find myself a new job, I intend to make a place for her there as well.

"Not like that," Visha said hurriedly, waving her hands in front of her in an attempt to assuage Tanya's unhappy attitude. "I just meant that if he were married, his wife might be suspicious of a female friend."

"That's true," Tanya said, relaxing a bit. "Though she'd have to get used to me."

"That's different. You work together. And, well, in your case, you…" she drifted off, eyeing Tanya's clothes, "...ahh...you've known him for longer."

Tanya nodded along with Visha's excuse, though she knew it was nothing more than an attempt not to be hurtful by saying something like _In your case, no woman would be suspicious that her husband is up to anything with you._ Tanya wouldn't have taken offense to that statement, but Visha was too kind to say it.

_Good_, Tanya thought with satisfaction, the cloud clearing off her mind, her imagination no longer envisioning an unhappy future in which Visha tried to date her boss. The longer Tanya thought about it, the more distasteful the idea became. She couldn't even rule out that Lehrgen might be interested. He might have had ulterior motives for taking Visha to the ball or being the attending officer when the prisoners were released.

I wouldn't want to give either of them the impression that I'm jealous. Visha has the right to keep company with whomever she wishes. I would never interfere with her or any other person's right to free association.

There's nothing wrong if she, or Lehrgen for that matter, want to date other people, but they definitely shouldn't date each other. First off, if the two of them got married, it would consign my future job recommendations to "as a favor to my wife's friend…". In that case, I'd be better off getting no recommendation at all. I never took job candidates like that seriously.

Second, when you look at the two of them, it's obvious there are some issues with compatibility. Usually, I wouldn't bother myself over that. If two people want to make themselves miserable, it's not my job to prevent them from it. The problem is, I'm close with both of them, so I'll end up getting pulled in and made miserable myself. I absolutely want to avoid getting put into an awkward position when their relationship goes downhill.

Due to my personal circumstances, I'm well aware that for the average man, reservations about how well-matched a woman's personality is to his own are inversely proportional to the woman's attractiveness. There's no question Visha rates highly on that scale. Simply put, even if General von Lehrgen is smart, I can't trust he'll exercise good judgment.

The crux of the problem is that for all her practicality on the battlefield, in her heart, Visha is a romantic. I shared a tent with her often enough to know that she gets starry-eyed when it comes to sappy love stories. I can't say I've spent much time theorizing about Lehrgen's love life, or from what little I know, lack thereof, but unless he turns into a wholly different person off the clock, he's about as overflowing with affection as I am. In other words: not at all.

I can't exactly criticize anyone on that front, and he's perfectly kind. There's nothing wrong with not getting carried away by emotion. It's a respectable trait, and it's easier for me if I don't have to deal with a boss who comes by to pester me for a woman's opinion on what he should get his girlfriend for their anniversary. He holds doors open and gives ladies his coat when they shiver, but in these days, those are just basic forms of politeness, so there's nothing notable about it. It doesn't make it any easier for me to picture him making the sort of grand romantic gestures that Visha so adores in stories. It's almost as hard to imagine as me in a nun's habit.

It's not like it's impossible to have a happy relationship in spite of that. They do say opposites attract, after all, but it's hard for me to see it ending well in their situation. I don't need one or both of them coming to me complaining about the other. As the person that introduced them, I'd naturally be stuck in between whenever troubles arise, so I'll do my best to ensure that nothing happens in the first place. It would be horribly inconvenient for me personally if I were forced to choose sides. Honestly, I'd almost rather be back in the middle of a real war than embroiled in some sort of idiotic romantic drama. Any attempts by either party to cross the border separating friends from partners will have to be dealt with severely.

I know I shouldn't get too bogged down thinking about it. It's not a worry for the immediate future anyway. From what I've been able to overhear, the regimen necessary to stimulate the nerves in Visha's legs back to working order will take some time, so she'll be in the hospital for a few months. One benefit to being a mage is better care than the average soldier - she has a private room, and no expense will be spared trying to repair her. I wish I could say it was some sort of humanitarian idealism on the Army's part, an apology for involving all of us in a ridiculous and avoidable war, but I'm sure they simply want to make sure they have as many mages available for service as possible.

So far, Dr. Eichler has given every indication that he thinks the treatment will eventually be successful. Visha doesn't seem to be bothered by her condition, but she's the type who adjusts easily, so she's probably grown used to it by now.

It's been almost two weeks since she's been back, and she hasn't spoken more than a few words about what happened to her. She only cried once, and that was when I confirmed that Lieutenant Grantz hadn't survived our final battle. Besides that, she hasn't given the slightest hint of sadness. She's usually smiling, happy to be home and nothing more.

I rarely got to feel a real sense of pride in my employees' work, but I'm immeasurably proud of Visha for her ability to concentrate on the future instead of moping over the past. No matter how much you think about it, it isn't going to change, so the only reason to dwell is if there's a lesson to learn. It's great to have someone around who's a kindred spirit. If I'd spent all my time being upset that I was Tanya, and not who I used to be, I wouldn't have been able to apply myself to making the best out of my unfortunate circumstances.

I don't let myself brood over it unnecessarily, and unless I can make use of someone's pity, I don't want it. But still, I wouldn't mind having someone around who knows about my unique situation. It would count as an improvement in my life if I could recruit someone onto my side of the struggle against Being X.

For obvious reasons, I can't seriously contemplate the idea of telling anyone. Even the most open-minded person would think me severely delusional. And if someone believed me, I'd never hear the end of all the questions they'd have about this or that thing in the future. Even worse, they might turn me into some religious symbol, someone capable of interceding on their behalf with a higher power. Next thing you know, I'd have letters asking _Saint Tanya, if you please, could you pass along the request to Being X that he reincarnate me as a princess next time around?_

No, my situation is best kept to myself. That didn't mean Visha's in the same position. In most cases, it's healthy to get things off your chest, so it will speed up her recovery if she has someone to confide in. She tends to be overly thoughtful, the type who doesn't like to burden others, so she might not say anything unless I mention I don't mind listening.

"Serebryakov," Tanya started.

"Yes, Lieutenant Colonel?"

"Serebryakov, I'm not an officer anymore," Tanya reminded her gently.

Visha flushed lightly. "I know, but you still call me Serebryakov, and it sounds too strange to call you Degurechaff, so I'm not sure what else to say."

"It's fine if you call me Tanya. And I can call you by whatever you prefer."

"Viktoriya or Visha, I don't mind either one," she said, with a smile. "Though I think Elya started calling me that after she misheard me when I told her my relatives called me Vichka as a girl. I'm used to Visha now. And if I can ask something…?"

Tanya nodded.

"I've just always wondered...is your real name Tatiana?"

Tanya started to shake her head, but then shrugged. "Maybe it was supposed to be, and it was forgotten after my mother left me with the orphanage. Or maybe she just liked the nickname."

"Was she from the Federation?" Visha asked.

Tanya shrugged again. "Her family might have been," she concluded, "but whether she immigrated herself, or it was her great-great-grandfather that did, or whether the family never moved anywhere but lived on land that was ceded to the Empire in some war or other, I haven't a clue."

Personally, I've never cared much about Tanya's origins. I asked the sisters at the orphanage enough to know that I have no known relations who can be counted on for help, but that was the extent of my research. I'm not going to waste my energy pursuing something that can't be expected to yield any benefit to me.

I know more about my biological father than my mother, since he has records from his service in the army. In the absence of conflicting information, I'll give my mother the benefit of the doubt and assume that she correctly identified Anton Zimmerman as my father. If there was any question over who knocked her up, you'd think she'd have chosen the most promising candidate to claim paternity. If she wasn't smart enough to do that, then I don't want to be related to her. I was born in Berun, so she must have been living around here. It would have been nice if she could have chosen one of the officers instead of the lowest-ranked man she could find.

Frankly, if my parents were as poor and unconnected as it appears they were, I'm better off without them. They'd just be a liability at this point, though they might have been useful earlier on.

My father had neither siblings nor parents living by the time I was old enough to ask questions. He was from a destitute family that lived in a village northwest of Berun, so I can only assume he joined the Army because it promised regular meals. He went and got himself killed in a skirmish with the Republic somewhere in Alsatia shortly before I was born.

I don't know anything about my mother's family, except that their last name is Degurechaff. I've yet to find anyone else that shares the appellation. Presumably, if they'd had any sort of money, my mother wouldn't have died in a poorhouse of tuberculosis when I was four.

Gretchen Degurechaff had written a letter to her only descendant, delivered upon her death. Tanya had promptly thrown it in the garbage after reading it through, uninterested in keeping a piece of paper just because the writer shared some genetic code with her. It hadn't contained any useful information, and had basically amounted to a long apology for being a bad parent.

"Oh, well," Visha sighed in response to Tanya's lack of familial knowledge. "I just thought it would be funny if we were both transplants from the Federation to Berun."

"I can't imagine what some of the Germanian nationalists would think if they found out two of their country's most elite soldiers were Rus," Tanya chuckled.

Visha snickered along with her. "Do you know where the nickname Tanya is from?" she asked, when her laughter faded.

Tanya had to shake her head and confess that she was missing yet another piece of information on herself.

"It's from _Eugene Onegin_," she answered. "It's by Pushkin. I have a copy, but it's not translated, so I'm not sure you could read it," Visha continued, with a hint of a smile. "I wouldn't mind teaching you, if you want to learn."

I'm already getting my Françoise up to a conversational level, so under most circumstances I'd ask Visha to wait another year or two before trying to teach me her own tongue. Trying to keep two new languages straight in my head simultaneously is sure to be a challenge. But, feeling like a useful and contributing member of society is what every human wants, so I don't want to deny that to her. While she's confined to a bed, it will be good to give Visha something to focus on, so I can submit to being her project. Getting a free education from a native speaker isn't something I should turn down anyway. I'll never live down the mistake I made when my _Kampfgruppe _mistranslated the sentiments of our Federation prisoners, so I'd like not to repeat it.

"That would be nice," Tanya said, giving Visha a smile.

They sat silently for a time, and then Tanya decided to pick up the thread of the conversation she'd meant to start before getting sidetracked by her personal history.

"Sere-Visha, if there's anything you need to…talk about, from the past year, I don't mind listening," she said, clearing her throat awkwardly.

The question seemed to take the other woman by surprise, and then she slapped a hand on her face.

"I'm so sorry," Visha groaned, bowing her head, "you probably think I've been hiding some dreadful secret this whole time. Honestly there was nothing interesting to tell so it slipped my mind."

Tanya's shoulders sagged with relief.

It's a sad truth, but after everything I've been through, I could cope with hearing just about anything. Still, no one wants to listen to details of their friend being grossly mistreated. And besides, I can provide some level of comfort if I need to, but it's easier on both of us if that can be avoided.

"I was just alone too long, is all," Visha said quietly. "There were no other female prisoners in the camp I was held in. To keep me safe I was kept separate from everyone else. It sounds silly but you go a bit…funny...when you have no one to talk to for that long. I guess I spent so many days in my own head I have a hard time leaving it now."

That explanation did not sound silly at all to someone familiar with the detrimental side effects of solitary confinement. In Tanya's estimation, Visha had held up quite well to that insidious form of torture.

"Thanks for putting up with me," Visha continued. "I know I was difficult to have a conversation with, especially at first. It's getting better though. Or, I think it is."

Tanya shook her head. "It's no trouble," was all she commented in regards to Visha's unnecessary apology. "Were your legs injured in the fall?"

"You don't remember?" Visha asked, with a sympathetic smile.

"Sorry. I barely made it out in one piece. Probably hit my head one time too many," Tanya said, knocking on her skull.

"That girl almost got you a second time," Visha explained softly. "I managed to catch her for a second to give you space, but she threw me off rather…violently," she grimaced.

"You didn't have to-,"

"I did," Visha interrupted. "I owe you my life many times over."

Tanya nodded in acknowledgement of that debt. "I'm glad we're both still here," she concluded.

"Me too," Visha replied.

"Well, I need to be going," Tanya said, standing up to leave. She enjoyed spending time with Visha, but she had things to accomplish before the weekend was over. "I'll be back in a few days."

The mail had come by the time she arrived back to her apartment, and it had brought good tidings. Her building had an availability on the fourth floor come February 1st, so she'd finally be free of her shouting sixth-floor neighbors.

_I'll see if Weiss can come help, _she thought. Tanya was strong enough to move most things on her own, but a few pieces of furniture were too large for a single person to carry.

Weiss was just as attentive to his home phone as he'd been when he'd sat by his post in the Army, picking up before the third ring. They exchanged greetings first, and Tanya updated him on Visha, deciding to ask him to come to Berun under the guise of visiting a friend. Once he was there, he wouldn't say no to helping Tanya move.

"I'm sure Visha would love to see you," she mentioned. "Do you think you might be able to come by? She's got a lot of treatments scheduled through January, but maybe the first week or so of February?"

"Of course," Weiss agreed happily. "I'll see you both then."

_Excellent, _Tanya smiled to herself, penning a reply to her landlord that she would indeed be vacating her current apartment in favor of the new offer. _Friends really are useful._

* * *

_A/N: I made it! A shorter and feel-good chapter for Thanksgiving :) I'm not sure I'm 100% happy with how my random interlude turned out, hopefully there aren't too many grammar/spelling mistakes from my last-minute writing.  
_

_On the subject of Tanya's mom (who is never officially stated to be dead), there is a one-shot of the mom accidentally ending up dating Lehrgen, which is a hilarious idea because I can't think of many greater methods of torment than forcing him to live with her, I wish it was not a one-shot. I have a deep desire to write a sort of crossover between this, the plot of Mamma Mia, and Maury, in which Tanya's mom was everyone's favorite at the officer's brothel and as Tanya grows up all the men in the General Staff realize who she looks like and in total panic frantically begin trying to count the years back in their head. Schugel invents the paternity test way ahead of time and Zettour sits there reading off cards dramatically going "…you are NOT the father!"_

_Big thanks/time to mention Acerman, who did not get angry when I spoiled him on a lot of stuff when we were talking about my travels out west, and instead allowed me to conscript him into assisting me with re-writing issues that naturally arose from the fact that I plotted most events of this story at 4 AM while drunk. So, it's the time of year for me and everyone to say thank you for the services rendered as beta-reader, debater and fixer of plot issues, and idea generator after accidentally learning spoilers._


	29. Now here is a riddle to guess if you can

_.  
_

_Note: Oberschlesia = Upper Silesia, today mostly a part of Poland_

**November 26, 1929**

**Oppel, Imperial Province of Oberschlesia**

Two flashes of a lantern. Thirty seconds, counted slowly. Three flashes of a lantern.

It was the signal Tomasz Kostyszyn had been waiting for, the reason he'd stood half the night in the cold, heart pounding in his ears, tucked between two trusses of a soon-to-be demolished bridge.

The waning sliver of moon in the sky provided little light, making him practically invisible to any nighttime passerby on the nearby embankment, a reassurance he'd repeated to himself several times over the course of the night. Too fearful that lighting a cigarette would give away his presence, he'd occupied himself by picking at the flaking paint of the beams, sprinkling it into the water beneath him as he went.

As soon as he'd confirmed the transmission, he quickly ran his way along the track to land, wincing at the clop his boots made on impact with the pavement. He waved to his compatriots huddled under the abutment on the left bank of the river.

Rushing to reposition, all in attempted silence, wires attached to detonators attached to explosives were unfurled, the men gaining a safe distance from the bridge before igniting them. No sooner had they reached the locations marked on their maps than the lumbering of an approaching train could be heard, brakes screeching as it slowed in preparation to stop.

It was the last train of the day, arriving shortly before midnight, a military transport containing nothing but material used by their oppressors to keep control over the local population.

_A united, independent Polaska, _Tomasz reminded himself, rubbing the picture of his grandfather he kept in his pocket for good luck. The old man was surely smiling down on him tonight, a star twinkling in the night sky, his dream so close to being realized.

He fixed the image of the stern face in his mind, remembering the gnarled fingers that had patted his head and turned pages in stories, three missing from the left hand, lost in the January Uprising, almost sixty years ago now. He'd fled to safety in the Empire, which had welcomed him so long as he understood his place as a second-class citizen.

First came the sound of the explosions, loud, the type that reverberated in your chest. Then the sound of weakened bridge supports giving way to gravity, an awful shriek of protest as metal twisted and tore, so piercingly unearthly Tomasz was sure his ears would never recover, that the same noise might be heard in the depths of hell, the cry of a chorus of tortured souls.

Not wanting to wait around long enough to watch the fate of the train, he fled and faded into the darkness in search of the agreed-upon rendezvous point.

Upon arrival, he was handed a small glass of Łańcut and a round of _Na zdrowie _went around the room. He threw the drink back, disappointed that his first, and likely only, taste of expensive _wódka_ was in an unheated basement, tossed back the same way he treated the cheap stuff he could afford.

The ringleader of the group clapped him on the back, a solid strike that Tomasz had to hold his ground against.

"Relax," the older man suggested. "All we can do now is wait. If we're lucky, the next thing we'll hear is a call come through that the other groups were just as successful."

"And if we aren't lucky?"

"Police boots and gunfire," he said, with a shrug at the thought, as though it was something to be taken lightly.

Tomasz gulped, wishing someone would offer him another shot. The conversation going around the room faded into the background, his ears now unnaturally attuned to the sounds of the street above him. Quietly, he mumbled out a prayer, asking that the first sound they heard be the chime of the room's telephone added to the boisterous meetingplace.

**November 27, 1929**

**Outside Zelle, Imperial Rhineland**

Clamorous, cacophonous, clanging, the ring of a telephone sliced through the crisp night air, the sound carrying so far it could be heard at the other end of the house, whose occupants had, seconds before, been soundly asleep.

By the time a servant knocked at the door to his bedroom, Hans von Zettour had already slipped his arms through a heavy robe and made his apologies to his wife. A call at such an indecent hour could only be for him, unless the local knitting circle took itself far more seriously than required. _This had better be an emergency, _he groaned internally. _If it isn't, I'll raise enough hell myself to make it one. _

His days of being awoken in the middle of the night to tend to his country's ills were supposed to be in the past. He still pined for his days in the General Staff Office, but this was one part of it he had been glad to bid farewell to.

Muscles and bones achy with age and winter had him walking stiffly down the hall and to the stairs. He refused to lean on the railing as he went. He'd been a life-long soldier, and until the very last he intended to hold his back straight and head high, unyielding to the discomforts of growing old. In near-total darkness, the moon providing little in the way of light through the windows, he made his way down to his office and found the telephone. He drew in a long breath and let it out, then picked up the receiver.

"Yes?" he grunted gruffly at whoever was on the other end. Sleep lent an edge of harshness to his voice he hadn't intended, but didn't altogether mind. No one bothering him just before three in the morning, rousing him from the comfort of warm blankets, deserved a pleasant greeting.

"We have a situation in Oberschlesia," his caller, whom he quickly identified as his successor to the role of Chief of Staff, grumbled back at him.

"That's your job, now," Zettour yawned, feeling his dog brush against his legs.

Still half a puppy, the Veimaraner must have been curious over what had her owner up and had come to investigate, wondering if it was already morning and time for breakfast. He reached a hand down and stroked soft ears, his own interest piqued by Romel's words. Still, he would've been happier to read about it in the morning edition of the _Allgemeine Zeitung_.

That Oberschlesia was given to riots and protests whenever the police dealt heavy-handedly with the local population wasn't news to him. As soon as a handful of troops were sent in, order was restored and life resumed its normal rhythm. A plebiscite had been held recently, and the cities had voted to remain with the Empire, the countryside voting against, but the greater population of the cities had won, and Imperial it would remain. It was no surprise there was unrest in the aftermath.

"My hands are tied unless we want to chance a skirmish with the Polaskans near the border," Romel countered. "It's not a few malcontents breaking windows like the last few times. There's three rail bridges out, and every half hour I get notice another communication line is down."

Zettour's weariness began to drain away, replaced with an agitated rumination on the possible causes for and responses to this newest political development. A keen mind needed sharpening every once in a while; it wouldn't do to have his go to pasture just yet from lack of use. He'd have to send a thanks to whoever was organizing the Polaskan resistance.

"To international eyes, sending in the entire Army is going to look aggressive," Romel continued. "A few of those sympathetic paramilitaries you keep in touch with, though...might be they have some men at their disposal."

"Might be," Zettour agreed, stroking his chin and looking up at his clock. "I'll be on the first train to Berun."

He hung up and stretched, the adrenaline coursing through his veins loosening his muscles and making him feel ten years younger. Retire by choice he hadn't. This was the sort of work that got his blood pumping, the reason he had to keep going instead of declaring his intention to live out the rest of his life in his favorite chair.

He reached under a fringed lampshade to turn on the light, illuminating an office so full of papers he had to forbid the serving staff from touching it. His wife refused to come in the room, the disheveled mess impossible for her to look at without stressing about. A veritable monument to the power of entropy, there was a familiarity to the chaotically stacked papers that allowed Zettour to pull out the ones he needed almost instantaneously.

_Dietl, Niehoff, Schlageter...I think that'll do, _he thought, as he began to scribble out notes to himself on which former officers would be the most useful in directing members of their volunteer units according to whichever plan Zettour helped devise to put down the rebellion.

The existence of the _Freikorps _was officially forbidden but impossible to enforce. Their numbers exceeded the size of the official army, so they had to be tolerated, by both the Empire and the nations responsible for forcefully demobilizing so many men at once. _If you can't beat them, join them, _had been Zettour's philosophy when it became apparent that paramilitary forces were to become a fixture of the political scene for the next decade or so. Most of the men commanding them were used to taking orders from Zettour, so it hadn't been difficult to recruit a few of them into an unofficial Army, paid by complicated but satisfactory arrangements to keep the state's hands publicly clean.

When the clock struck five, Zettour threw a few things in his bag and called for his driver, who deposited him at the station just as morning broke. A few hours later, he was stepping foot into his old office, a number of familiar faces greeting him, the flashes of silver and gold on their uniforms marking them as the highest-ranked and most dependable officers.

"Well, gentlemen, down to business," Romel instructed as he strode into the room, the last person to enter. The chatter died down at his instruction.

Zettour felt a pang of pity for his old colleague. The face which had retained a youthful boyishness well into middle age was now serious and deeply lined, and though in a certain light Romel's hair still looked blonde, when he turned it was clear the close crop had mostly finished its progression to a steely gray.

"Freinitzer, what's the latest?"

The 8th Division, headquartered in Breslav, was the closest to Oberschlesia, and its commander cleared his throat to speak.

"Seven bridges destroyed in total, outside of Oppel, Kreuzberg, Kanderzin, Oberglodau, and Schientochlowitz. All important lines between Oberschlesia and the rest of the Empire have been compromised. It'll be difficult to get any men in that aren't already there."

A collective groan went around the room, but it was brief, the men returning to a collected calm. The news wasn't good, but it was no reason to panic. Everyone there had been briefed on worse in their time on the General Staff.

"The work is well-coordinated, nothing like what we've seen in past strikes and riots. Three of the bridges show signs of having been destroyed with magical assistance. We aren't sure how, but orbs must have been smuggled in."

A flurry of shouts went around this time, the group growing disorderly. Currently, the Empire had neither mages nor military-grade orbs. They'd be at a major disadvantage if the Polaskan rebels had either, to say nothing of how concerning it was that they'd been able to sneak orbs past the detection equipment at every port and border crossing. They were one armament that was impossible to disguise, the mana imbued in them during their making enough to trigger the machines designed to alert the customs officials they needed to check a shipment.

These days, it wasn't only the Empire ensuring that nobody brought in dangerous weapons without their permission. In the north by the Commonwealth, in the east by the Federation, in the south and west by the Republic, Imperial borders and border guards were observed, foreign agents guaranteeing strict compliance. Airports were monitored, and aircraft not departing from or landing at an officially registered destination would arouse immediate suspicion. Building orbs from raw materials in secret was similarly impossible, the goods and machinery required too specific and too easily traceable.

"Coordinated by whom?" Romel asked, holding up a hand to tell the other men to quiet down.

"Has to be the Federation," Lieutenant General von Kresslein muttered, and Zettour heard variations on that sentiment echoed by several other officers.

"To the best of our knowledge," Freinitzer stressed, "it's the Polaskan Intelligence Service."

"As I said, the Federation," Kresslein retorted, tone laden with sarcasm.

"A few prisoners have been taken so far, and based on our interviews with them they're fighting for an independent Polaska, not for the Federation. Most of them aren't even a part of the Communist Party. Could be this is the work of the Polaskans only. If they added the industry in Oberschlesia to their country, it would make them less dependent on the Federation. Easier for them to declare full independence one day."

"Hmm," Zettour hummed to himself, the situation reminding him of a conversation he had with one Tanya Degurechaff a few years ago, back when the Empire had the upper hand against their eastern neighbors after she'd figured out the Federation's ethnic minorities were fighting to defend their homeland, not the country itself.

_I wonder what she'd have to say about this, _he thought. His eyes found Brigadier General von Lehrgen, who looked just as stressed as ever, chewing on a lip, staring out the nearest window, a sure sign he was lost in thought. If anyone knew what Degurechaff's opinion was, it should be him.

_Better to ask her myself, _Zettour decided. He wouldn't pass up the chance to pick the brain of the most extraordinary person he'd ever come across. She'd forewarned him of the world war, the evacuation at Brest, of difficulties large and small. At times, he'd ignored her advice, to his own chagrin. She could pull a win out of a losing hand better than a trained magician, so this time, he'd listen closely to whatever peculiar thoughts she had on the matter.

"And your recommendation?" Romel asked, glancing up at Freinitzer after writing a few notes.

"Assuming we'll be delayed in transporting our troops there, we have to expect we'll lose significant territory and have to dig the combatants out. 75,000 men should finish it in a few weeks."

"That's half our official Army," Romel objected. "The Federation's going to wonder if that's just to put down a rebellion, or if we plan on going further. The second we threaten Polaska they might be at our border. You'll take 30,000, and the same number from the _Freikorps," _he said, with a nod at Zettour. "I want a plan on my desk by the end of the week."

"Yes, sir."

"And someone tell Intelligence to get off their fucking asses and figure out how orbs got past our border. Even we haven't determined how it's possible to fool the detectors. Unless there's other comments, dismissed."

Everyone glanced around, and then filed out a moment later.

"I assume 30,000 men is possible for you?" Romel asked, catching Zettour before he left.

He nodded. "Very easy. It won't be difficult to arouse the nationalists with something like this, they'd likely all volunteer to go without pay. The bigger issue will be too many of them'll want to fight."

"Better than the alternative," Romel smiled, pulling two cigars out of a drawer and handing one over.

Zettour took it, and the light. "I'd best be going to get in touch with the right people. I'll let you know as soon as I've organized the men."

"And I'll update you when I have marching orders to give," Romel sighed. "Should be Friday evening. Let's talk over a drink."

Zettour nodded and left, shutting the door to the office behind him, walking a hallway he knew far better than the back of his hand. He ran into Lehrgen near the end of the hall.

"Where's Degurechaff sitting these days?"

It was impossible to miss the look of annoyance that flashed across his face, but, ever the obedient officer, the other man didn't hesitate in replying. "I'll show you. Stairs or elevator?"

"Stairs," Zettour said firmly. A man couldn't be expected to prevail on the battlefield if he couldn't be decisive about choosing his method of transport.

They ascended a floor, making their way through the red-carpeted halls, past the bay windows that overlooked the park, past the painting that always made Zettour wonder if the painter wasn't a bit too fond of blood, the battle scene depicted with slightly more realism than artistically necessary. Lehrgen stopped and nodded at a half-open door.

"I'm having a drink with Romel Friday evening," Zettour mentioned before he pushed the door the rest of the way open. "I'd be interested to hear how things are going if you have the time."

Lehrgen nodded, began to salute, then must have remembered that it was no longer required, his hand hovering awkwardly in mid-air. Zettour left him like that, turning to knock at the door in front of him.

"Degurechaff?" he queried, poking his head in.

"Gen-ahh-sir," she greeted him, equally as unsure as her boss on how to address him.

"I don't have long to catch up, but I could take a fifteen-minute coffee break tomorrow morning if you'd care to join."

"Of course, sir."

"If I recall, Café Zolka was your favorite?"

"Your memory serves you well."

"Ten o'clock?"

"I'll see you then, sir."

**November 28, 1929**

**Café Zolka, Imperial Capital Berun**

Tanya was already enjoying her first cup of coffee by the time her former superior made his presence known. She stood up and shook his hand, matching his firm grip.

"It's good to see you still around," Zettour smiled as soon as he took his own seat. "You belong here as much as I do, it would've been a shame if we were both gotten rid of."

Apparently, the entire country is on a mission to persuade me to re-enlist in the Army in a year and a half. If you think of it from a talent management perspective, it makes perfect sense. There's no one else capable of using their most prized piece of technology. In the corporate world, I'm like the old developer who's the only person that knows how to run the back-up system in an emergency. HR might grumble about it, but they'd always do what they needed to keep an employee like that around.

If that's the position I'm in, I don't mind considering it if the Army wants to sweeten the pot. Something like a promotion and a permanent position on the General Staff sounds safe and sound in the event of future conflicts. Of course, it will be hard for them to agree to something like that since it will mean losing me in the field, but I'll keep that idea in my pocket if it becomes relevant.

"I'm not sure I'd go so far as to say this is where I belong, sir. But I'm glad to hear my contributions are appreciated."

My years in the modern workforce taught me how to avoid agreeing with someone without offending them. Zettour's well-connected, so there's no question that if I cause him not to like me, it will spell trouble for my future.

"I wouldn't be surprised if Lehrgen congratulates himself every day over hiring you. I do get the sense he's beginning to feel differently about you now," Zettour said, with a knowing smile.

It's upsetting, but he's right. Instead of bringing people over to his side, Lehrgen stopped holding his ground against the other officers and decided it'll no longer be a tragedy to see me back in service. As a manager, there's no question he'd want to keep a valuable employee. Come to think of it, I'm due for a year-end review, so perhaps my boss and I can discuss my value in the context of a raise.

Tanya nodded, and the waiter interrupted the conversation to bring Zettour's coffee, providing an easy way of changing the subject.

"Would I be correct in assuming you've been recalled to help deal with what's happening in Oberschlesia?"

It was Zettour's turn to nod. "Marching a good portion of our Army too close to the border is a situation we'd like to avoid, so I'm coordinating with less official sources of manpower."

"Doesn't that basically amount to the same thing?"

Zettour shrugged. "Yes, but we can always claim any violence by the _Freikorps _wasn't officially sanctioned. Half the time, that would be the truth."

Example number one of the problem with any government mindset: the people in power will abuse their unfair advantages to stay in power. A smart move by the individual, but a fundamental failing of allowing the government too much control over anything. They let their citizens believe that the state is there to protect them, but really, the state is there to protect the interests of the people running it. It's the same lie companies tell their employees about the HR department. Its purpose is to protect the company, not the employee. It just so happens that in most cases, those two goals are aligned.

Some days, I feel like I'm working for a criminal enterprise instead of an entity that's supposed to be providing for the public good. The Army is going to prey on the patriotism of people who are technically civilians, and use them to do some of its dirty work. Then, the minute they become inconvenient, we're going to turn around and claim they were operating on their own, so the leadership can escape blame.

"You were an expert in dealing with disadvantageous positions. I'm curious to hear your thoughts on how you'd handle it as commander."

Putting aside that the Empire becoming entangled in some sort of war-like situation again is the last thing I want to see, it's an interesting question. On one hand, idealism. I place utmost importance on individual self-determination, and if a group of individuals decides that they no longer want to be part of the Empire, it's hard to deny that they should have the right to form a territory that reflects their idea of national identity.

On the other hand, you have to take logic into account. Unless you're sitting on top of a mountain of resources or pre-plan your economy to become a tax haven, a small state is going to be at an economic disadvantage, to say nothing of security considerations. Assuming that Oberschlesia plans on making itself a part of a larger Polaskan nation in order to avoid those issues, that entails living under a communist government instead of a democratic one. If people want to vote that way, it's their legal right to do so, but I'd have to advise against it. Voting in favor of communism is the type of evil that our laws can't punish you for, but the economy certainly will.

From the Empire's perspective, the only rational reason to hold onto a rebellious territory is for its resources and tax income. My understanding is that there's some good industry in the area in question, but the German economy got by just fine without it after the Second World War, so I have to believe that losing it wouldn't permanently cripple the Empire's economy. If that's the case, on a strictly financial basis the cost of maintaining order is unlikely to be worth it. If you're staffing factories with workers who don't want to be part of your country, at best they're simply working hard enough not to get fired, and at worst they're stealing everything from physical to intellectual property or sabotaging whatever they can.

A peaceful, stable situation is the most desirable. Even if it means a bit of territory loss to an evil government, I won't be personally affected, nor will the vast majority of Imperial citizens. Before we pursue peace through violence, we should see if a compromise exists.

"Traditional use-of-force hasn't been successful so far in the region. This is the third outbreak of violence in two years, and they've only gotten more organized. Isn't it time we consider alternatives to a military crackdown?"

"You...just so I have it straight...you're saying we should be lenient with anti-Imperial revolutionaries?"

Crap. I should have realized I need to be more careful presenting an argument for a measured response to a dyed-in-the-wool patriot. Zettour looks like I've said something to him that's so baffling he doesn't even know how to process it. When he phrases it like that, it makes me sound like I'm some sort of subversive. If that reputation gets attached to me, any hope of gainful employment, in the Army or not, goes up in smoke, unless I'm willing to lower myself so far as to join a Communist workers collective or something equally horrible.

Obsession doesn't even begin to describe my fellow citizens' attitude towards keeping together the parts of the Empire that remain. Too many for my comfort are all for taking back what we were forced to give up. Revealing that I'd care more about losing five hundred marks than the entire province of Oberschlesia out loud is almost asking for someone in the café to lean over and shoot me.

"Rather than thinking about our goal as putting down the rebellion, we should be looking for a way to use it to our advantage. It isn't impossible to think we could come out of this in a stronger position."

That line of bullshit sounds nice and patriotic, so I just have to find a reasonably plausible explanation to back it up. In my daily life, chaos is the enemy, but in the political arena, there's always an opportunity to be found, so I'll give it a shot.

"If the rebellion appears initially successful, it might give the Polaskans the hope they need, along with a base of operations from which to launch a wider action, one that might spill over the border. In the name of regional stability, we'd have an excuse to march in the full might of our Army to eliminate the rebels root and stem. Once we've gained control within our borders back, the rest depends on the willingness of the other powers to intervene on Polaska's behalf."

Honestly, if I didn't live in a nearby country, nothing would make me happier than if the rebel spirit infected the Polaskan People's Republic, which, by the way, is about as much of a citizen-friendly republic as the People's Republic of China. If you have to lie about your system of government, shouldn't that be a sign that there's something wrong with it?

It would be a long shot, and ultimately, the Empire will have too much to lose from further instability. The good news is I don't need to propose an actual course of action for anyone to follow, I only need to cover up my gaffe. Since I don't want anyone taking my advice, it's for the best that it sounds overly idealistic.

If I had more tolerance for putting myself in harm's way, the idea isn't awful, just risky. Losing Oberschlesia to gain a neutral or potentially even friendly Polaska as a buffer between the Federation and the Empire would clearly be a worthwhile trade. Unfortunately, that might involve the Commonwealth coming in to support the independence movement and butting heads with the Federation right next door.

"Right, so we have to consider that everyone might decide to leave the resolution between the affected territories."

My companion really grasps onto new concepts quickly, and is able to consider a different perspective at the drop of a hat, running through the consequences and pointing out the flaws in my argument. It's no wonder the Army let he and Rudersdorf have practically free reign over strategy. It's hard for anyone to compete with a person who's both flexible enough to think outside the box and realistic enough to understand the risks of irregular strategies.

Basically, he's remarking on the fact that neither the Commonwealth, nor any other power, has expressed any willingness to come to the aid of the Polaskan independence movement. They might be left on their own against the Federation, in which case they don't stand much of a chance, and the rebellion will be put down more or less immediately. I'll give one more defense of my idiotic thesis so it sounds like I at least thought about it a little, but that should be enough. Historically, it isn't unheard of for the Commonwealth to guarantee the independence of neutral nations, so suggesting it as a possibility won't sound like lunacy, even if I think it's unlikely in this case.

"The relationship between the Commonwealth and the Federation has only been getting worse since the end of the war. This might give them the excuse they need to break ties completely and realign. All the western powers would cheer the fall of a communist regime, and they have to understand that under the current circumstances, a fully independent Polaska can't exist."

"A...novel idea," Zettour said, stroking his chin. "Certainly, from a territorial perspective, it would make us more powerful. But politically, I'm not sure it's possible."

Ahh, great. That's exactly the result I was aiming for. I did enough work not to sound the same as a blowhard with no thought behind her ideas while simultaneously protecting my reputation from being tainted with accusations of treasonous leanings, but didn't overdo it and convince Zettour to take my radical course of action. Convincing the Commonwealth to back the Polaskan movement could set off some sort of new conflict between them and the Federation.

"Yes, sir. I understand."

It's hard to make myself look mildly disappointed when I want to be patting myself on the back for making such a perfect recovery from an error, but I wouldn't want to give it all away now.

"And there is something to be said for taking a more reserved approach than we have previously. A calculated use of non-aggression could find us some international sympathy."

I might need to buy myself a drink after work. Not only did I successfully gloss over a faux pas, I inspired some creative thinking out of Zettour as well. All the top generals trust his opinion, so he'll have the clout to go in and convince them that shooting people you disagree with isn't the only way of dealing with them, and there are probably better solutions for lasting stability. If the Empire can re-establish friendly relationships with the other democratic powers, we're on our way to the type of pan-European movement that renders war unthinkable.

Well, at the least, I'll wave down the waiter and order another cup of coffee and a dessert to congratulate myself. Zettour is paying, after all.

—

It was three blocks from Café Zolka back to the General Staff Office, one north and two west. Hans von Zettour usually walked with a brisk pace and sense of purpose, but today, he meandered slowly back, considering the best piece of advice he'd heard out of anyone's mouth in regards to their current dilemma: _Rather than thinking about our goal as putting down the rebellion, we should be looking for a way to use it to our advantage._

Feeling generous, he sprinkled the loose change in his pocket into the hand of a beggar, then opened his wallet to draw out a note upon realizing it was an Army veteran. _They were my responsibility, and still are, _he reminded himself. And for his country, the most important objective was to fight their way out of international isolation, even if there had to be a temporary sacrifice of some territory.

If the rest of the world perceived the Empire as too weak to deal with its own internal threats, they could use that to win one or two key treaty concessions. The Republic and the Commonwealth had no way of knowing that the rebellion wasn't fomented by the Federation. The Federation would have every reason not to desire a successful Polaskan independence movement. In that case, all parties could be goaded into giving the Empire a few more tools in its arsenal.

The hardest part would be convincing men of action to sit back and do nothing. _Well, I've faced worse, _he thought, recalling that day he'd spent being shouted at by every industrialist, politician, or aristocrat whose name carried weight while he waited to hear whether they'd been successful in encircling the Republican Army. If that operation had failed, the likelihood of him leaving the room alive would have been far worse than the Empire's chances of winning the war.

_I was right that talking to Degurechaff would be useful, _he congratulated himself, turning a corner and pulling his coat tighter as a cold gust of wind barreled down the street. _Even if she still has a worrying tolerance for an immediate rematch with our opponents._

She'd changed some in the year and a half since he'd last seen her. She sat taller in her seat than she used to, and her hair was shorter, but the rigidly correct posture and crisp white shirt tucked into black slacks gave her away instantly, so even though her back had been turned, he'd been able to identify her before he'd hung up his coat.

He'd nearly had a heart attack when it had sounded like she was advocating tolerance towards the rebels. Not that he would have been unwilling to consider it, but coming from such a staunch Imperialist and anti-Communist, it had been so unexpected that he'd briefly wondered if something was addling her mind. People changed in two years, but not that much.

It had been a shame she still saw office work as so undesirable that she didn't think she belonged. From the reports he'd heard on her time working for the General Staff, she'd be a great asset to it. He'd perhaps missed the opportunity to recall her from the front and assign her to solving more far-reaching problems than individual battles.

But, as ever, she was still a predator at heart. Only someone like Degurechaff could turn political unrest in the Empire into a plan for renewed Imperial control of Polaska. Under the guise of putting down the rebellion, it was true that the Commonwealth might be willing to overlook Imperial troops marching into Polaska itself and agree not to interfere, or even to support them, but that wasn't a risk he was prepared to take. It could just as easily go the other direction, and would only solidify the relationship between the Federation and the Commonwealth.

It was good to see she hadn't lost her spirit, though. Suffering a loss was dangerous for soldiers convinced of their own invincibility, but all signs pointed to her attitude being nearly unaffected.

He reached the headquarters building and stopped, waiting as a guard pulled open one of the grand doors at the entrance. _Time to see if they'll all still listen to me the way they used to,_ Zettour sighed to himself, firming up his resolve to push for an insipid response to the latest crisis, swapping a military loss for a political win.

**November 29, 1929**

**Bar Schinkel, Imperial Capital Berun**

Berun was fast gaining notoriety for its bars and clubs. In fits and starts, tradition was being left by the wayside, modernity invading the social scene the same as it had fashion and science and war.

Try as it might to cling to old patterns, even respectable society wasn't immune to the changes, and at any popular venue a few notable names would be found sprinkled in among the young, the artistic, and the daring. The men meeting at Bar Schinkel were neither young, artistic, nor daring, or at least not when it came to things like wearing preposterous outfits or drinking unnecessarily complicated cocktails. An old-fashioned bar where men could sit and talk and drink familiar concoctions was all they needed. By virtue of its overpriced offerings, the location was only for more discerning customers, to whom it gave the rare available refuge on a Friday night, when most places turned to raucous revelry.

Romel was already there when Lehrgen walked through the door. He handed his coat off and approached him, giving a "sir" of acknowledgement before ordering a glass of whiskey. He took his seat, leaving an empty barstool in between for their third guest, the bartender handing him his drink a moment later.

Romel gave a sniff of laughter and shook his head, causing another utterance of "sir," this time with considerable confusion in the tone.

"Nothing," Romel said, shaking his head again. "You know you used to not be able to drink one of those without a half glass of ice, and even then you couldn't keep a straight face."

Lehrgen humored him with a laugh at bringing up the old memory. Romel, then a Brigadier General himself, had been regularly called in as a guest lecturer when he was in War College. The older man always took an interest in the new crop of the Empire's most talented officers, offering them bits of personal wisdom along with a drink or three. Younger than most of the others in his class, Lehrgen had still been in the process of acquiring a taste for liquor when the two had met.

"I wonder what stories your old instructors have about you, sir."

"Worse ones," Romel replied with a shrug, pulling an unapologetic face. "But lucky for me, the ones who are still alive are all too old to remember that far back."

"General and General," Lehrgen heard from behind him a few seconds later. He and Romel both turned at the interruption.

"Hans," they greeted, getting up to shake hands, Lehrgen a step behind Romel as he took his cues on the proper formalities to be observed when dealing with the man who used to be their boss, and who still controlled a substantial amount of power within and outside the military.

For good reason, Zettour had looked sleep-deprived the day of his arrival into Berun, but now that he'd had two nights to recover, in Lehrgen's estimation he looked well. Definitely better rested than he used to, but he supposed that's what retirement did to you. Although, whether Zettour had truly retired or not was a matter up for debate. He could have, if he'd wanted to, but the older man hadn't tired of plotting just yet. In any case, he kept what hours suited him instead of being holed up in the Staff Office all day.

"How's the family?" Romel asked, as soon as Zettour settled into his own barstool and ordered a drink. Between the three of them, there was no chance the conversation wouldn't turn to work at one point, but they had to at least feign an interest in other subjects.

"Well, Grete's still on me about how I leave my books lying about instead of putting them away properly, so about the same, only a few hundred kilometers west," Zettour laughed, "but you know how that is."

Romel laughed heartily. Lehrgen doubted that books left around the house were what Romel's wife complained about. If he had to hazard a guess, he'd say it was either gun cleaning supplies or bottles of beer instead. He'd rather not think about what that said about their leader's state of mind.

"Both the children are doing fine, although from what my daughter tells me, my oldest grandson, Fritz, is dating about seven girls at once," Zettour continued, "would that I could be that age again. Especially in these times."

As the youngest person in the group by two decades, Lehrgen grew fearful that this line of discussion would turn into asking how things on that front were getting on in his life. On that count, young Fritz was winning by a landslide, but no one besides him needed to know that. There were always friends of friends to go on a date or two with. On occasion. Or rarely, if you wanted to be more specific about terminology. But he'd never understood the desire some men had to brag about every girl who'd so much as winked at them, so unless there was something of importance to tell, he'd prefer to keep it to himself.

It's not that he'd imagined himself still unmarried at this age, but the war had turned everyone's life into a hectic couple of years right around the time he'd been at the point where he'd started thinking about it. He'd been sent off here and there and everywhere on short notice, his hours had been long and the work demanding. When he was done for the day, half the time he'd been so tired it had taken every ounce of willpower he had to remove his uniform before he crawled into bed.

He had less of an excuse now, he'd admit it. He rarely had to leave Berun, and he didn't come home each night in the state of bone-deep exhaustion he had previously. But still, he kept long hours and usually spent his evening hours catching up on the news and reading any reference material he needed to. He didn't have any permanent staff, just someone who came by once a week to give the house a good clean and do the laundry, so he had to make his own food and wash his own dishes. When he did have free time, he had already-established friendships to maintain. Suffice to say, it was a difficult situation.

"Well now, how about you?" Zettour asked, turning the question to Romel and jarring Lehrgen's thoughts back to the present.

"Trying to decide between my wife and I which of us hates you more for sticking me with this job," Romel replied, waving at the bartender to pour him another glass. "I wasn't put on this Earth to push papers around, you know," he complained.

"You were the best tactician in the field," Zettour replied.

"Yes. In the field," Romel retorted pointedly. "I wasn't made for all the politics. If there's a single member of the _Reichstag _whose New Year's resolution doesn't include trying to boot me out of office, I'll count it as a success. Or maybe a failure," he added, after a second.

"They all love to complain, but most of them approve of the job you're doing."

"Doesn't seem that way," he muttered.

"Now, speaking of things people don't approve of, my wife and phone calls at 2:30 in the morning."

"Did she try to beat you with her slipper?"

"Did yours?"

"I expect that's what I get for marrying someone half-Ildoan," Romel grumbled. "No matter how many times I explain to her that it's part of my job, she somehow thinks it's my fault."

Lehrgen held in his laugh at the image of their dauntless commander trying to escape the wrath of the spirited yet stern woman he'd married. He'd met Romel's wife a number of times, and the rest of his family, including the illegitimate daughter everyone pretended was his niece, a handful. Lucia von Romel had always come across as rather staid, but apparently she was just as rambunctious as her husband when she wasn't trying to maintain appearances.

"And you?" Zettour asked, turning to Lehrgen. "Any closer to joining us in commiserating on the state of our marital relations?"

_...And here it goes. Would it have killed the old man to have started with a generic "How are things?" _Lehrgen lamented to himself.

"I'm _busy_," he protested.

"So were we," Zettour retorted, motioning between the two older men, "and we still managed it. If I remember correctly, you turned thirty-six last Sunday. You aren't getting any younger."

"I'm aware, thank you," Lehrgen answered, to what in his opinion had been a most unnecessary reminder. "And the present conversation isn't motivating me to rush things along."

Zettour harrumphed but thankfully changed the topic back to something more agreeable.

"From what I hear, Chief of Operations is suiting you almost as well as it did Rudersdorf."

Lehrgen smiled at the compliment. "I'd like that to be true, but I get the feeling the job's easier now than it was during the war," he deflected.

"And I'm sure it's that much easier with Degurechaff on your side. Singing a different tune about her now?"

Lehrgen was as of yet unwilling to admit that he may have been incorrect in his initial assessment of her. He maintained a deep conviction that he hadn't been. He'd at most concede that his perspective had been incomplete, that he'd only seen one side of her and not the whole, but that didn't mean he should disregard the ample evidence he'd collected that Tanya had the potential to be a danger to society. He simply had become aware that under the right circumstances she could confine herself to being merely worrisome.

"No, no," he contested, "it's not that. You were the one who just told me yesterday she wants to use the rebellion as a pretext to invade Polaska, so I certainly don't think I was wrong."

He'd known a meeting between her and Zettour would result in something like that, but if he'd refused to show the older man to her office, he would have simply asked someone else. Half the rationale behind hiring her was to control which of her eccentric ideas made it out of his office and to the ears of others, but Romel and Zettour were both set on giving her an audience.

"If you still thought she was the Devil himself made flesh, you would have seen her promptly out the door instead of hiring her," Zettour pressed on.

"She's just too damn useful for her own good," Lehrgen huffed indignantly.

Zettour looked down at his drink contemplatively, and then drained it.

"I told myself the same," he said, tone shifting into something like regret, "every time I had to justify throwing a girl too young to be finished with primary school into the worst parts of the front. I do wonder sometimes what sort of villains she imagined her superior officers to be. Although knowing her, she might not have seen anything wrong with it."

The other two men looked down at their own drinks, the humor evaporating instantaneously. They both finished their poison of choice in silence before picking the conversation back up. Lehrgen forced himself not to think too hard about it for the next few hours while they all carried on. When he was home, he'd open up a bottle of wine, and then, he'd have a good reckoning with himself about what he'd been a party to. He'd never considered things from Tanya's perspective, and now that he did, it didn't paint a pretty picture.

The evening came to a close almost two hours later, and in growing dread Lehrgen gathered his bag and coat. He wasn't above taking the train home, so walked and waited and walked again, every step along his street bringing him closer to an unhappy night of introspection.

It was past ten by the time he'd bolted his front door, but it was Friday, so he could stay up as late as he liked, he wasn't expected to show up at the crack of dawn for work the next day. Usually, he wouldn't have been required to go in at all, but with the current situation, he'd better. One of the first to arrive on a usual day, no would one notice if he came in a little late on a Saturday, aside from the man he bought breakfast from most mornings.

He opened one of his cheaper bottles of wine, a gift from an acquaintance he'd been considering passing along to someone else. The bitter taste it left in his mouth would be oddly appropriate for the occasion. With that thought, he tipped the bottle he'd just uncorked over to give himself a healthy pour, then retreated with both glass and bottle in hand to the sitting room to start a fire and settle into his favorite chair.

Everyone has things they aren't proud of, looking back at it all. Choices they would have made differently, things they should have said, things they should have done, things they under no circumstances should have said or done, maybe even all of the above. By the very definition of the word, no one's life is full of only what they might describe as their best moments.

Flaws are an inherent part of the human condition. Mistakes often make the best teachers of all. If humans were perfect creatures, they'd have no need to make art or music, or to have friends or families, would have no need for change at all. You might even go so far as to say that being imperfect is what makes life worth living. Surely, there couldn't be a single person on Earth, who, if given the chance, would say they had not a single regret, not a single thing they'd change, not a single piece of advice they wish they could give a past version of themselves. He wasn't alone in this. This was just a normal part of being human.

_This is a bit different than wishing you hadn't switched the jars with the salt and sugar and embarrassed the poor cook because you were fourteen and thought it was funny_, Lehrgen finally admitted to himself. That hadn't been him, actually. That had been his brother.

He hadn't been the only one involved in this travesty, not by a long shot. The entire command structure had been fine with it. All objecting would have done would have been to ruin his career, it wouldn't have helped anyone. _And yet, I never even thought to object, not for a moment_, he berated himself.

The plain fact of it was that for the sake of expediency, they'd all sat back and watched as children of thirteen and fourteen, or in one memorable case, eight, had their pencils and papers swapped for rifles and orbs, their math lessons turned into learning how to calculate a spell's trajectory, their play time substituted for target practice. They'd told themselves there was no choice, that it was the only way to gain the advantage in numbers they needed.

Lehrgen had spent the better part of the last seven years criticizing Tanya to anyone who'd listen for her fundamental failing to take any human factor into account when she made her decisions. But if you took a child, an overly bright and overly mature one, and the first thing she ever understood about the Army was that eking out an advantage was more important than anything else, that her life mattered less than her mana reading, was it any wonder she'd turned out that way?

Add to that a fact that everyone had simply failed to consider in her case, that the usual underage recruits of thirteen and older were past the age where they played pretend, but that Tanya, at eight or nine, would have still had a child's imaginative mind. If a child of that age, who was also possessed of a brilliance far surpassing the average adult, was told that her job was to come up with ways, to the best of her ability, to kill and maim and disable enemy soldiers, armies, or even entire states, who could blame her for finding possibilities that were each more appalling than the last?

The problem was, at this point, she was a product of that education, and had been irreparably altered by it. Perhaps, raised under more typical conditions, she wouldn't have turned out to be so profoundly disturbed. He doubted she'd have grown up entirely normally, had she not already had a tendency towards callous indifference, cruelty and brutality wouldn't have taken root so easily to turn her into the corrupted parody of an officer candidate he'd seen that day at OCS.

But if someone had tried to help her, he had to think that at the very least the worst of it could have been prevented. She'd have had a fighting chance at a normal life, if only someone had fought for her. He could have done it. He'd had ample opportunity. Tanya herself had thought he'd been doing it.

He should have taken her aside when he'd seen her take a knife to a junior student. Asked her why she acted the way she did, explained that the threats she heard out of drill instructors weren't meant to be taken literally. She'd terrified him, but instead of wondering if he could find a way to get her the psychiatric help that in retrospect she'd so obviously needed, he'd wondered how the army could best make use of that incarnation of evil.

To make it worse, it was entirely possible, even after going through training, which had culminated in her first taste of real battle in Norden, that had she been stuck in some more benign role, far away from trenches and shells and blood, that the warped personality would have begun straightening itself out, the same way it seemed to be trying to do now. Instead, he, himself, Erich von Lehrgen, had signed the necessary paperwork to keep her on the front and as far away as possible.

He'd thought he'd been doing a good thing. That if she wasn't allowed to aim her rifle at enemy soldiers, she wouldn't put the weapon down, but instead she'd turn right around and train it on the country he loved. In service to the Empire, he'd been complicit in feeding the worst parts of her appetite. But what if, in doing that, he'd helped create the very monster he'd come to fear?

_How do I fix this? Can I fix it? Can anyone? _he thought to himself, finishing the second glass of wine he'd poured. He shook his head in answer to his own question. There were some sins you could spend the rest of your life performing penitence for without ever making up for them. As someone who'd enabled Tanya along the way, how much blame for tragedies like Arene fell on his shoulders?

By now, the work of undoing all of the damage was probably close to impossible. If Tanya was more like other girls her age, perhaps he could entertain the notion, but few people with mature personalities underwent major character changes without a catalyst. Despite that, he judged the situation not to be entirely hopeless. In the past year she'd shown the inklings of positive changes.

It was foolishly optimistic to think that the violence and malice could ever be erased in their entirety. They'd probably always been there, and always would be. But maybe they could be buried deeply enough to never see the light of day again. If Tanya's life were to be filled with other sources of enjoyment, perhaps, with time, the memory of that state of almost rapture-like bliss she'd found on the battlefield would fade.

As guilty as it made him feel, it wasn't as though he could treat her like she was no longer dangerous. She was. She was still abnormal, at times frighteningly and deeply so. For as much progress as she'd made, she didn't see a place for herself anywhere outside the Army, if her rejection of Ugar's job offer was anything to go by, and her unhealthy addiction to conflict remained, based on what he knew of her conversations with Zettour and Romel.

He couldn't afford to lose his wariness of her, he was still as sure of that as he'd ever been. But that didn't mean he couldn't make a real, honest effort at helping her find a different path. She deserved that much, and he had enough evidence to think that she was capable of responding positively to repeated strong pushes in the right direction. And at least in part, he ought to try becoming the person Tanya had always thought he was.

* * *

_A/N Important - I know I faked you guys out last week, but I did my best to not have a pause because it was at an awkward point, and this time I'm for real...I am taking a two week break between now and Christmas. Obviously it's not to catch up on writing/plotting, what? No, no, it's because if you know my title, you know Lehrgen just got one hit KOed by lyrics to a Disney song, he needs time to recover. Let's give him some space. Conveniently, this means that my chapter that takes place over Christmas, which kicks off the third arc of the story now that I can herd Lehrgen into position after mentally undermining him enough to experience character development, will be published on Christmas._

_Continuing on with my "Tanya tries to find her real dad" authors note from last time, I got sucked into a page of interesting facts about Rommel and he did in fact have an illegitimate daughter born in 1913, so I think my story has a happy ending where Romel is Tanya's dad because that just adds up too perfectly. Since a few people asked about it, the oneshot about Tanya's mom is called Parenthood, found on this site._

_Based on the exchange/inflation rates I'm seeing, 500 marks would work out to be the equivalent of a modern ~$250, assuming the Empire's currency has an exchange rate roughly half as crappy as Germany in the immediate post-war period (so ~30 marks to the dollar in-universe) and USD inflation is calculated from 1925 instead of 1929 (~15x) since alt-universe hasn't hit the Great Depression yet. Just in case you were wondering how cheap Tanya was selling Upper Silesia (which you probably weren't). I don't think money comes up a whole lot, but if it does, the math is easy: 1 current US dollar = 2 Marks._


	30. So you wanna play with magic?

.

**December 9, 1929**

**General Staff Office, Imperial Capital Berun**

The nature and origin of mana was a poorly-understood phenomenon, even to those who possessed it. Less so the mechanics of how to use it, which were known to any aerial mage who'd undergone basic training. To an elite veteran, the function of mana was anything but a mystery.

Vectors, planes, stimuli, formulas - all of these were familiar to anyone who'd so much as placed their hand on an orb and directed their mana through the complex piece of machinery. Originally, they were handmade, crude instruments the size of a person, fixed in place and operated by a mage to perform a specific task. As time wore on, the components shrank in size until the precision and delicacy necessary to tool them could only be done by magic-assisted means.

The making of an orb left an indelible imprint on its inner workings, a dense concentration of matter altered by mana contained within the shell of the device. With certain spells, those traces could be detected. Of course, with no active flow, they didn't broadcast anything, it was impossible to trace at a distance, but at close range, the residue could be distinguished. Every Imperial customs checkpoint was equipped with a detection device and a mage to operate it. Anything significantly altered by mana would light up, orbs especially identifiable because of their shape, size, and high volume of ambient magic.

If it weren't for said specialized equipment, a hostile nation would need to do nothing more than send its soldiers on a personal vacation across the border, pack a small, inconspicuous container into a shipment of other goods, then sit back and watch as their enemy's capital was frozen by panic, the result the same as airdropping several pieces of artillery into the middle of the main square.

Hence, Tanya Degurechaff's current mood of frustration. The plan for after the war had always been first to stay out of trouble and second to secure a smooth path for her future. An intellectually-challenging career, a steadily-increasing salary, high risk of papercuts and overtime. The usual dreams of a salaryman.

Things hadn't gone exactly as desired. Losing the war had meant lowering some expectations. Her sacrifices so far had been few - her job was interesting, it paid decently, and it only involved discussing theoretical harm to other people. It wasn't her optimal career path, but on the most important point - the not constantly struggling against death part - she'd held her ground.

That was, until now. She'd built a peaceful, normal life with her own two hands, and rogue operators were threatening to tear it down. Armed with orbs and explosives, there would be few better targets than Berun generally, and government buildings specifically, one of which she happened to work in. Even if her office was safe, she sat a stone's throw away from the _Reichstag, _which puther life under an unacceptable level of threat.

Sure, she was curious to figure out how an orb could be made untraceable. There were experts for that, though, so as a matter of academic debate, she would have gladly left it for them to argue over. To the uneducated, she might seem like she could talk the talk, but in reality, she was as good a replacement for an engineer as a racecar driver was for his mechanic.

She had her own work to do, and she wasn't being paid to solve technical questions. On principle, Tanya was against doing a job for free. A functioning marketplace couldn't exist without price signals. That being said, when it came to her priorities, preserving her own personal safety had to take precedence over strict adherence to higher order values. Her beliefs wouldn't do her or anyone else much good if her brains were spilled open on the street. It was her duty to her continued wellbeing to give solving the question currently stumping the Army's brightest technical minds a shot.

She finished marking up the document she was reviewing, restacking the papers and finding the correct folder to return them to, her mind circling inexorably back to her life's most recent source of anxiety. She'd only come up with two explanations so far that didn't rely on an absurd number of coincidences or completely baseless conjectures about the exact nature of mana: supernatural intervention and human corruption.

Being X has a rap sheet a few kilometers long, but planting orbs in a convenient location for a Polaskan separatist to find them gives him far too much credit. We're talking about a creature that has all the subtlety of an advertisement for a "massage parlor" in a red light district. Indirect isn't his style. Maybe it isn't even in his vocabulary. For someone claiming to be superior to humans, he's awfully easy to outsmart. If it weren't for the fact that he's both a player and an overpowered referee capable of changing the rules on the fly, I'd be long rid of him. He couldn't mastermind a dinner party. I would like to hope that the Empire's investigative team has ruled out demonic intervention on the basis of logic, but they've undoubtedly sought out Schugel's advice on the matter, so I can't say for sure what odd notions he's assaulting the intelligence of rational men and women with.

That leaves me with the most likely option: corruption. Bribing customs officials is a tried and true method of trafficking illegal goods, in this case only slightly complicated by the international oversight in place. Few political loyalties can overcome a human's desire to hoard resources in the face of being presented cold, hard cash. No inconsistencies have turned up in any records or testimony as of yet, but all that proves is that the person responsible knows how to cover their tracks. New hires tend to be under the most suspicion in these circumstances, but a senior employee would have a better chance at pulling it off.

The only good news is the separatist mages are either untrained or are using first-generation technology. Based on the number of detonations the ballistics experts estimate took place, we aren't dealing with professionals. Any standard military-grade orbs-

_Wait. Military-grade orbs. __Military-grade__ orbs. Of course, _Tanya muttered to herself.

The answer is so obvious it never even crossed my mind. It was a huge mistake to assume I could trust the reports saying the rebels are in possession of military models when I know there's no way to trace exactly which orb was used. Mass-produced orbs are a relatively new technology, and even most mages still have trouble understanding how much their presence alters battle tactics.

Up until the past decade, we were seen as nothing but a supporting role for artillery. Optical decoys were used so inconsistently they might as well have not existed. For fuck's sake, the field manual instructed us to disperse when facing an infantry formation, like we were helplessly flying 60 feet above them instead of equipped with defensive barriers and flying at the very limit of their reach. With that level of misinformation, if anyone ever thoroughly tested the capabilities of the most recent generation of commercially available orbs, I'll sell all my possessions and begin living as an ascetic monk.

Tanya reached for her phone, fingers rotating through the familiar pattern that dialed the main switchboard for the Intelligence office.

"Tanya Degurechaff for Captain Weber, please."

"And how may I be of service, Ms. Degurechaff?" Elya asked a half-minute later, her playful sing-song so identifiable she didn't need to announce that it was her.

"Do we keep records on manufacture, purchase, ownership of civilian orbs? Anything like that?"

"Not us, but I can call the right bureau."

"Have them pull everything from the past year and start combing through for purchases made in Oberschlesia, especially to companies headquartered there."

"I'll be on it right away."

She hung up and immediately rose from her seat. This was important enough to interrupt Lehrgen's afternoon over. She only just restrained herself from running down the hall. She was a professional working in an office, not a high-schooler late for class. It was beneath her dignity.

Her boss's door was open, but as soon as she turned to walk through it she paused, catching him in the middle of something. Paging back through her memory, she confirmed it was the first time she'd seen him with his glasses off. She could put the momentary distraction it caused down to being only human. She needed time to process something that until now had never been more than a vague awareness in the back of her mind. Besides, if she didn't get ahold of herself before she spoke, all her efforts to prove her competence would go to waste. Incapable of the most basic professional requirement - holding her emotions in check. The lip-biting, the hyperventilating, the tightness in her chest that made it difficult to swallow, none of those had any place in an office.

Being X put me in a world specifically calculated to piss me off. I can't forget that. I have to face the facts, even if I want to run and hide. It's possible that turning me into Tanya wasn't the only way he messed with my physical body. Who knows what other nasty surprises he has hidden.

Naively, I thought he was done with me after he dropped me here. What good is running an experiment if you're going to keep changing the parameters? Even lab rats have it better than I do. I learned that after I was given the Type 95. Now, I have to consider if my childhood was really as free of his meddling as I thought. I did almost nothing but read in a dim room for the six years between reacquiring full control of my mental faculties and enrolling in OCS. A perfect candidate for near-sightedness. I can't guarantee it was only good genetics that preserved my sharp eyesight. Even if it's unlikely, just the thought of Being X laughing while he made sure I had no escape from the life of an aerial mage makes me want to put a hole through the wall. This is the sort of time I really miss search engines. I'm not sure why anyone else would want to ask this, but the Internet was full of all sorts of weirdos. I can't be the first person to wonder how to safely make your vision deteriorate.

In the later years of the war, we got desperate. Desperate enough to start sending out soldiers with poor vision. That only applied to regular infantry, though. Mages are too valuable to sacrifice on a whim. Glasses would have made the distinction between child soldier and child laborer. A factory floor isn't an ideal atmosphere for a middle-schooler, but I would have volunteered for unpaid overtime and sweated it out pouring pre-made spells into bullets if it meant no bullets flew at me. Tanya the TNT Specialist doesn't have quite the ring of Rosie the Riveter, but I could've done without being famous. Or infamous, depending on who you ask. Even better, I might have simply been retired from the front lines to a permanent place on the General Staff like the lucky bastard I call my boss.

Tanya took another deep breath. If Lehrgen saw her seething in anger for no reason, he might tell her to come back once she'd cooled her head. Nobody wanted advice from a temperamental teenager. Even worse, he might think he was the target of her rage. Explaining the horror of not being able to rule out that something as minor as her visual acuity was safe from supernatural influence would make so little sense she might as well tell him in Japanese.

"I guess you were only around other people with perfect sight," he said, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. "I didn't realize you'd find cleaning glasses so fascinating to watch."

Tanya cleared her throat and snapped out of her thoughts. The correct response was to use a little humor to gloss over being caught. "You could tell it was me without them on?"

"It's not that bad. I just can't make out detail at a distance anymore. I could get away without them half the time, but it's a pain to keep taking them on and off."

"When did you start wearing them?" she asked curiously. Backup plans were limitless. Nobody got court-martialed for faulty vision. She had to verify at what age she'd have to let go of any hope that it might serve as an excuse to avoid future conflict.

"I started _needing _them about ten years ago, right around the time I came back from the Commonwealth. Must've spent too much time hunched over missives at night," he told her, finishing the thorough job he was doing and replacing the glasses on his face. "I was afraid if I said anything that my matriculation into War College would be canceled so they could give my place to someone else. After I graduated, I knew I'd be allowed to stay on in an administrative role, and, well, frankly, that suited me just as well as being in the field."

_Omitting some trivial information to further your career and permanently guarantee yourself safety in the rear? Now that's a colleague I can respect, _Tanya thought, with a nod of approval. _Well played._

"I always tell myself that not being able to see the board properly is the reason I didn't graduate first in my class."

"What place were you?"

"Third."

"Well, I hope you don't mind someone ranked eleventh questioning your wisdom-"

"Eleventh at age eleven is slightly more impressive."

"-but I think everyone might be on the wrong track with trying to figure out how military-grade orbs were illegally imported. Are we sure commercial-grade ones aren't capable of causing enough damage?"

She waited patiently for her boss to formulate a response, hoping that his frown of concentration indicated that he wasn't going to dismiss her question outright on the grounds of being absurd. Outside consultants questioning received wisdom often found themselves in a precarious position, a heretic among firm believers. That was especially true in a top-down organization like a military. A few became hailed as famous visionaries, but most were laughed out of the room.

"Do you have cause to believe that the specifications are faulty?"

She took a steadying breath, aware that she was treading into dangerous territory. Saying "yes" was the only response available to her if she wanted to be taken seriously, but at the same time, she'd be arrogantly asserting that she knew better than the experts. With no specific evidence to present, she was staking her professional reputation, second in importance only to her own life, on a mere conjecture.

"The aerial mage doctrine that was taught at the time I took control of my battalion failed to recognize the full potential of mages as combatants," she stated, drawing her shoulders back and projecting an air of absolute confidence. "With that in mind, I don't believe we can afford to ignore the possibility that the actual limits placed on orbs for general purchase fail to accurately reflect the intended ones."

"Coming from someone who made her mark on military history the way you did, a convincing argument," Lehrgen replied, words that suffused Tanya with the warmth of a successful investment paying off, her devotion to proving herself a reliable resource resulting in an immediate trust of her opinion.

"If I may volunteer myself for the task…?" she requested. Her previous experience with other mages suggested that leaving it to anyone else would only cause grief.

Lehrgen had been in the middle of picking up his phone, but paused. "We have other former aerial mages employed by the Army. You should keep enjoying your break from the battlefield."

"It'll be hard to replicate the excitement of battle without anything shooting back at me," Tanya replied, with a small smile at her sarcasm, "And while I respect the talents of my fellow aerial mages, my approach to magical combat tended to be unique."

"There's no disputing that," Lehrgen mumbled. Judging by his tone, he was genuinely upset that he had to assign an underage employee to firing weapons yet again. "There's no one else who can...hold on. Isn't it going to be a problem if we test spells that are only usable by elite mages?"

I have to concede that point with a nod to my boss's astute reasoning. Using myself as a reference, we'll be running a flawed experiment only designed to answer a question that's necessary to ask - what damage is theoretically _possible _to inflict using a commercial orb - but not the question that's the most pressing: what the average mage can do. I won't rule out that the mages participating in the rebellion are all elites, but assuming that to be so ignores basic statistical probability.

Besides putting an end to my daily commute through volleys of enemy fire, I can thank losing the war for one other thing: it put Being X's holy relic exactly where relics belong - locked up and jealously guarded. In other words, untouchable. I wasn't sorry to have an excuse to give up my Type 95, but my Type 97 was my most trusted sidekick. Orbs are something like a security blanket. Once you get used to having mastery over your environment, it's hard to adjust back to life without it. Even if it's only for an hour or two, I want to experience it again.

Legally, I'm too young to own a commercially-available orb, and even if I weren't, they're astronomically expensive. The victors of the war put a temporary ban on all orb production, military and commercial, under the assumption it would be too difficult to ensure materials and factories billed for commercial use weren't covertly operating as armaments facilities. Any new orbs for sale are foreign imports, and like any cartel, our recent enemies get a kick out of gouging us on price. Older Imperial models are cheaper, but scarcity has driven their cost up as well. I'll know I've really made it when I can buy one of them without bankrupting myself. As long as peace continues its glorious reign over Europa, this might be my last chance to handle an orb for the next two decades.

"I'm sure Intelligence will want a full report, so both the average and the limit need to be tested," Tanya replied smartly, appealing to her boss's diligent work ethic.

"I'll call over to Personnel and have them recommend someone suitable," Lehrgen told her, putting the phone to his ear and resuming the process of dialing. "And then we'll head out after I let General von Romel know."

"We should have an answer one way or another by the end of the day," she replied cautiously. Experience told her to invite as few witnesses as possible to events that might end in failure.

"If he hears we went to blow things up for research purposes and didn't invite him, we might as well might as well start drafting our resignation letters," Lehrgen replied with a wry smile, and Tanya couldn't help a short huff of laughter from escaping at the half-serious joke.

"Do you mind finding Lieutenant Sauer and asking him to get a car ready?" Lehrgen asked while he waited for his call to pick up.

"...yes, alright," she said, taking that as her cue to leave.

"Thanks. And Degurechaff…?" she paused and turned back around. "If this turns out to be true, I'll see what I can do as far as docking the pay of someone in Intelligence and adding it to your wages."

_What a privilege it is to work for a boss that understands how to reward his employees, _Tanya thought, this time needing to prevent herself from skipping merrily down the hall in search of Lehrgen's adjutant, a task which she usually would have done her best to delegate to one of the many willing ladies on their floor.

Her previous adventures in officework suggested that personal grudges between coworkers were to be avoided at all costs. Even if they didn't get her killed a second time, they could get her fired. A company had no reason to tolerate toxic behavior that brought down productivity. Logically, as an employee with proven value, she should be insulated from being handed her notice. Realistically, the decision often came down to who was easier to get rid of.

An irregular employee whose name didn't appear on the official payroll or an officer who had signed on for a minimum commitment of fifteen years' service? The choice was clear. She had to keep a handle on her personal feelings about Lehrgen's adjutant or she'd be out the door.

First Lieutenant Ernst Sauer. His fault isn't with his work. Never late, helpful to a fault, assignments all completed in a timely fashion. In other words, competent at his job. I couldn't ask for more in a colleague. More specifically, I don't want more out of a colleague.

I'll gladly go along and agree with the office typists in bestowing the title of "God's gift to women" on him. Unneeded, unwanted, harmful to my mental health, something I'd tie a stone to and drop into the Mariana Trench if it wouldn't land me in jail. Just like Being X's other "blessing".

Apparently, he considers flirting with every woman in his presence something of a public service. I complained to one of the secretaries once and was accused of jealousy, like I would want to be on the receiving end of the targeted barrage reserved for the girls he's actually interested in. I'm lumped in with the married, old, or otherwise unattractive women in the office, which means I only have to put up with some of the smiling and playful gesturing. Being flirted with out of pity is almost worse than the alternative.

Tanya turned a corner, sighing at what she found. _Why am I not surprised? _she groaned.

"Lieutenant Sauer," she barked out sharply, butting into a conversation he was having with two typists that looked suspiciously unrelated to work, unless Lehrgen hadn't informed her that his adjutant's duties included acting as an agent to set up double dates. In that case, she'd been handed the awkward task of finding a way to inform her boss that the man he'd entrusted with that important job was planning on taking both for himself.

"Ma'am!" he squeaked out with a frightened glance in her direction, posture going rigid, but giving her a sheepish smile a second later nonetheless. The charmingly bashful face had her on the verge of forgiving him before she caught herself. _I'm not going to let that work on me, _she lectured herself irritably.

"General von Lehrgen needs his car readied. General von Romel may need one as well, get a second one going just in case. And make sure there's a fresh cup of coffee waiting for me too."

Honestly, Sauer didn't make very good coffee at all, so she wasn't looking forward to drinking it. What she was looking forward to was the look on his face when she poured it on the street and told him he better not serve her something like that again. Fear was the fastest teacher of all. The sooner he realized that acting cute wasn't going to result in her going easy on him, the better. And he might even learn to make a serviceable cup as a result. She could blame it on taking her coffee too seriously if he ran crying to their boss.

"Yes, ma'am, immediately."

The moment of petty payback a few minutes later did wonders for her mood. By the time Lehrgen joined them, another officer in tow, she could present a pleasant face to the world.

Women in uniform were an oddity now that the war was over. Tanya took stock of the person selected to assist her while she descended the steps. She looked to be in her mid-forties, solidly built without appearing overweight, brown hair that was already half-gray pulled back into a sensible braid.

"Captain Henriette Backhaus," she introduced herself, sticking out her hand to shake.

Tanya gave her name in return and reached out her own hand, but Backhaus's was withdrawn so quickly their fingers didn't even brush, drawing up into a precise salute that gave Tanya the immediate impression that they would get along. Serious professionals could always find common ground.

"It's an honor, ma'am."

"General von Romel will meet us at Summersdorf's artillery field in an hour and a half," Lehrgen informed her as he ducked into the front seat of the car. "I called ahead to the Bureau of Controlled Goods, they keep a model of every commercial orb in circulation for research."

If the man who greeted them when they arrived there was any indication, the new government was just as set on wasting her money as the last. At this rate, tax evasion was going to become a civic duty. Mainly, Tanya was impressed by how well he fulfilled the stereotype of lifelong bureaucrat: pale, flabby, owlish eyes blinking out from behind thick glasses and hair parted so unfashionably that even she noticed. He'd evidently woken up that morning undecided on whether he was feeling more self-important or more servile, so he'd combined the worst parts of both and called it a day.

"Alfred Klusmann, Chief Tester of Commercial Orbs. I must say it is most unusual to be visited by a Brigadier General," he introduced himself, mainly addressing Lehrgen and ignoring those he judged inferior. That suited Tanya just fine, giving her lips the chance to curl up into a smug grin.

If this is the man who tests the orbs, then I'm more confident in my prediction than ever. He looks like he majored in Orthodox Thinking with a focus on Lack of Accountability. If I ever need an author for a 200-page report that quotes important-sounding statistics without saying anything meaningful, I'll know who to call. From an organizational standpoint, I have nothing but deepest respect for an employee who can adeptly use the excuse of "the directions didn't say so" to avoid blame, but I don't need to read minds to know an original thought would be so alien to his brain that his immune system might attack the neurons responsible for it.

"You were informed of my request to allow the Army to run a few tests on the orbs ourselves?" Lehrgen asked. As usual, he didn't waste time chatting with a perfect stranger.

"Please, be my guest. I presume the Captain here is going to be the one performing them, if I could see her identification we can…" he trailed off, eyes stopping on Tanya, adjusting his glasses and blinking rapidly. _Do I have something on my face? _she wondered. "I-is this-are you-my apologies, I didn't recognize you at first, I-hold on," he stuttered, turning and opening one of his drawers, pulling a piece of paper out and presenting it to her.

"Would you sign this for me?" he asked. Tanya looked down. She blinked. She recoiled in utter disgust.

This has to be a fucking joke. If it's not, please let it be a bad dream. People kept copies of _that _propaganda poster? For _what? _No, never mind. It's dangerous to think too hard about that. Despite my appearance, I don't have the innocent mind of a sixteen-year-old girl. I need to focus on my work; I can't get distracted by heaving up my lunch. Let's think positive thoughts. Everyone who has a personal copy of it keeps it to remind them how tragic war is if children have to fight on the front lines.

"Herr Klusmann," Captain Backhaus snapped, before Tanya could get her gaping mouth to respond, "we're here on official business. Degurechaff is a decorated hero, not a showpiece."

It feels like it should be wrong to be having a moment of solidarity with a woman, but at times like these, we have to stick together. She chose to pursue a career, so she's also struggled against having her value reduced to how pretty she is and how pleasantly she can smile. A well-maintained physical appearance is invaluable for making a good impression, but there's nothing more insulting to an industrious intellectual like myself than the implication that someone believes it's my best quality.

"A-apologies," Klusmann winced obsequiously, withdrawing the hated print, a still taken from the video shoot overlayed with writing reminding citizens on the homefront that sacrifices were expected of them as well. "But orbs aren't just my work, they're my favorite hobby. Ms. Degurechaff performed miracles with the Type 97, things the mechanics shouldn't allow for. I assure you, I fully respect her talents."

Well, an orb otaku was better than the alternative. She could overlook her exploits being termed miracles_. _At least she didn't need to worry about maintaining several meters distance at all times. It was irritating he'd mixed up her two orbs, though. She shouldn't have to straighten out the details for someone who claimed to be obsessed with them.

"My Type 97 wasn't the one-"

"She was given a prototype version. It was tuned differently than the orbs meant for mass production; it wasn't the one that everyone else had," Lehrgen interrupted.

Her boss was not so subtly telling her to stay on topic. She was slipping if she needed to be reminded that an irrelevant clarification wouldn't accomplish anything. Though that result could've been achieved without the lie; she'd need to follow up later to make sure they were on the same page about the status of the Type 95.

"Still, based on the documents I've seen, even an improved model-"

"Herr Klusmann, the orbs, if you would."

"Yes, sir, right away, if I could please see identification? It's a formality, but the rules must be respected, you understand."

Tanya produced her identity card from her bag, handing it over after Captain Backhaus's had been given a cursory inspection. Klusmann hesitated.

"Is there a problem?" she asked. It wouldn't be surprising after the trouble she'd had getting it issued. Emancipated minors were unusual cases even for states with functioning bureaucracies. A year ago, the Empire had barely qualified as such.

"I beg your pardon, I would have said something earlier, Ms. Degurechaff, I didn't realize you intended to be more than an observer. As you aren't eighteen yet, it would be illegal for me to allow you access to the orbs."

To an extent, Tanya could sympathize with Klusmann's position. Laws existed to be obeyed. A healthy respect for rules and regulations made the world a civilized place. That didn't mean the irony was lost on her. At ten, she'd been handed a device that could mimic a warhead's payload, but at sixteen, she was being told not to touch one only good for making fireworks.

"Fine, we can discuss that later. Now, if you'd release your orbs into the possession of Captain Backhaus so that we might be off to Summersdorf…?"

Tanya shot Lehrgen a glare for having agreed to cancel her planned afternoon of fun without a fight. Why work so hard to get promoted if he wasn't going to use his position to make life easier for him?

"Summersdorf, sir?"

"I believe it was communicated to you that we needed to test the orbs; Summersdorf is the nearest proving ground."

"Sir, I'm afraid that's going to be impossible," Klussman said, with a mincing dip of his head that made Tanya want to grab him by the hair and force him to either stand up straight or bow properly.

"I'm happy to have you accompany us if you believe it necessary."

"Sir, you must understand, there are procedures for requesting the orbs be taken offsite, some of these would be quite difficult to replace if something were to happen to them, not to mention expensive."

"The Army will be happy to reimburse your office in the case it is necessary," Lehrgen countered. The undercurrent of irritation belied his patient words, triggering a belated realization in Tanya. _I'll need to get back into practice with that if I want to climb the corporate ladder._

It's been so long since I was required to tolerate this type of attitude from those beneath me without chewing someone's ear off that I've almost forgotten how. I need to take a page out of my boss's book and get back to standard office procedure - acting like I care about the feelings of incompetent wastes of time.

Rapidly, Klusmann is becoming an example of one of my least favorite forms of coworker - the obstructionist. My respect for someone who uses the rules to their advantage only extends so far. Refusing to deviate from them even when it's clear that it's the right thing to do is just asking for your job to get automated. If you don't want to use the part of your brain that controls critical thinking, that's your choice, but don't bitch about it if your salary gets cut too low for you to be comfortable. You've already given up on behaving like a human being, so you don't deserve to live like one.

Klusmann failed to take the hint and instead took a file out of one of his drawers, paged through and drew out a few pieces of paper. "Yes, yes, I'm sure, you have a much less...restricted budget than I do. Here are the forms, everything should be approved within two days, and then we may proceed to-"

"Do I need to remind you that this is a matter of national security?" Lehrgen asked, doing a good imitation of the resentment that Tanya felt welling up in her own gut. "If I could buy all of these at the nearest jeweler I would, but we don't have time to visit every damned shop in Berun hunting down each model. Now, would you like me to get the director of the bureau on the line to let him know that you've declined to give them to me?"

"Sir, please, I'm just trying to do my job."

"And I mine," Lehrgen said with a chilling finality that Tanya's voice could no longer imitate.

When you're an imposing man with a menacing stare like my boss, or myself in my previous incarnation, it's easy to forget how lucky you are that people take your threats seriously. Until I had the Silver Wings pinned on my jacket, I could never guarantee that I'd be treated with all due respect. There was one guy who wouldn't shut up about telling me he wouldn't take orders from someone with a little-kid voice until I drew a blade on him and made him think I'd really kill him for it. Some people have to learn not to judge a book by its cover the hard way. If you want to complain about children in the military, it's just common sense to complain to the officers in charge. Why bother the child about it?

Klusmann swallowed, picked up a notebook, and wrote out a few lines. "Then if I could have your signature here to authorize their release…?"

She watched Lehrgen scratch out a messy signature, so different to the elegant, looping lines she was accustomed to reading at the bottom of her papers.

"And if I might take you up on your offer that I accompany you…?"

"What do you know about the history of orbs?"

"Humbly, sir, I consider it my area of expertise."

"Good. I'm sure Ms. Degurechaff will have some questions for you."

Tanya never would have _asked _to be anywhere but the middle seat when they climbed in the car - as the smallest person, it was only logical - but when Captain Backhaus insisted on placing herself there instead, she wasn't going to object. In the future, she'd have to do a better job of remembering that meatshields weren't only useful in battle. They could keep all sorts of unwanted things from touching you.

Narrowing her questions down into a few focused inquiries was a must. They didn't have time for a full interrogation. Her education on the subject was sorely lacking - it had been nothing but a brief recitation of facts and dates related to the history of magic. It was an unforgivable oversight on her part not to have read up on how it was treated from a legal standpoint. A dereliction of duty to her life's purpose. If she went into law, the first thing she'd fight for was a worldwide moratorium on researching orbs with more than two cores, and from there she could see about a magical disarmament agreement.

The scope and severity of the problem would be made clear at the artillery ground. A critical step for damage control, but next to useless as a preventative measure. Determining how the mistake was made was the only way not to repeat it. For that, she'd need to start from the beginning.

"When orbs were originally designed, how was the delineation made between military and commercial grades?" she asked, leaning forward a little and turning her head inwards towards the other occupants of the car.

"Well, going back before mass production, the first mechanical orb was the-,"

"The short version, please," Lehrgen interrupted from the front, the _please _coming out so threatening Tanya heard it as more of an _or else_.

"Ah...yes, sir. Ahh, military-restricted orbs, let's see. That would have been in 1847 when the Archimede Company showed off its newest design, which had the capacity to handle the mana necessary for propulsion above a hover, although it could only reach an altitude of about fifty feet, as I'm sure you know. It was actually the police making a statement that this would allow criminals to escape beyond reach that caused a panic."

"Explosive capability didn't concern anyone before that?" she asked incredulously. Reason dictated that _deadly _would have been the more pressing issue. A police officer should prefer an escapee in a fast car to one in a tank.

"Well, what you have to understand is that at the time, the idea that you could use something ordinary like a rifle as a mana-focuser was very new, so it hadn't yet become a public safety issue. And then, as now, orbs were prohibitively expensive for the average person to purchase, they were meant only for industrial applications where the cost could be justified. The price was well beyond the means of a common thug, only organized crime could afford them for nefarious purposes."

"And the military became involved how?"

"Shortly thereafter the Army and government generally became interested, someone who could fly would of course be capable of escaping border controls, spying on military installations or otherwise getting places they weren't meant to be. Incidentally, you can trace the development of mana detection equipment to around the same time, you know it's an interesting story, the-"

"How did the government decide what restrictions would be put on orbs for commercial purchase?" Tanya interrupted, not wanting to waste time with whatever story was about to come pouring out. She was interested, but she was more interested in taking steps to contain their potential national emergency.

"As you might expect, there was much debate, there were calls for banning them entirely, but ultimately, an input limit was put in place, it's a...rather heavy-handed way of restricting usage but it prevents strong mages from being able to force an orb beyond the desired capacity and there's a beauty in the simplicity, a manufacturer can't design a way to get around something so broad the way they could if we tried to specify individual limits like the flight component may only receive this much mana and the reinforcement barrier that, which the makers say would be almost impossible to do anyway, so-"

"There's an input limit, but no _output limit_?" she stressed, grabbing at the back of the seat in front of her as the car went around a sharp curve so she didn't put all her weight on her seatmate. Though, come to think of it, Captain Backhaus looked sturdy enough to handle 45 kilograms. This was a first for her. She'd never overestimated the competence of a regulatory agency before.

"Ms. Degurechaff, surely you're aware that's impossible, the cores are designed to overheat if too much mana is poured into them at a sustained rate but-"

"I know how to operate an orb, not design one," she replied, rolling her eyes. She was the one asking questions here. She shouldn't have to defend her own knowledge to some pompous bureaucrat. "I overheard some of it from Schugel's demented rantings, but how applicable-"

"Please don't refer to the great Doktor that way," Klusmann pled. "He's a pioneer in his field, a-"

"Right, right, yes," Tanya interrupted. The last thing she needed in her life was an extended reflection on Schugel's greatness. Another side benefit of the ban on orb production was that he'd been forced into early retirement. "So no output limits."

"No, but the input-to-output ratio was calculated and is recalculated based on average loss rates when new models come out. We aren't unaware that orbs have been improving in efficiency."

"Who did the baseline testing?" she asked, in lieu of the reply she wanted to give, which was something along the lines of _Congratulations for not being a complete idiot. _Klusmann was so busy being proud of himself he may not have caught the condescension.

"That was sixty years ago, it's no longer relevant to-"

"Do you compare current results to the baseline tests?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Then I'd say it's relevant."

"It was a thorough test, I can assure you, not only were adults with the highest mana capacities asked to participate but companies nominated their best employees, who might know how to do more intricate spellwork even if their capacity was no more than average."

"And the participants from the Army, what-"

"E-excuse me for interrupting, but I need to stop you there. There were no aerial mage units at the time, so any participation from the Army was incidental."

"So none of the mages had combat experience?" came out in a strangled cry. She was so distracted she didn't realize the car was coming to a sudden stop. She hadn't braced herself for it, and would have flown into the seat in front of her if it weren't for Backhaus throwing an arm across her lap.

How should I put this. Asking someone who's only used an orb under controlled conditions to push the limits of its design is like asking an Olympic medalist in figure-skating to go win the gold in gymnastics. Sure, some of the fundamental requirements are similar - strength, balance, artistry, flexibility, tolerance for landing face-first on a hard surface - but it's the details that make it a different sport. A mage whose life doesn't depend on the quality of their artillery spells will never think the same way as one who's flown through a hailstorm of bullets.

"Of course some did from previous service, but not as dedicated orb-equipped soldiers," Klusmann answered, while she rearranged herself back into a comfortable position.

"And since then, your office has been responsible for ensuring compliance with the regulations?" Tanya asked, glancing in the rearview mirror and seeing that both Lehrgen and Backhaus were making the same grimace that she was.

"That is correct."

"The testing procedure?"

"A series of different ones. First, in our lab, mana is poured into the core and the temperature is measured to ensure it begins overheating as designed when it reaches the limit. Afterwards, practical applications, a flight spell, a defensive barrier, a detonation and the like, to ensure the output doesn't exceed expected parameters."

"And who is responsible for performing those tests?"

"I am, ma'am."

"Your qualifications?"

"Unusually high mana capacity and my theoretical knowledge of spellwork was far above the other candidates, if I do say so myself."

_An adult still bragging about his entrance exam score, _Tanya scoffed to herself.

"Practical qualifications," she stressed.

"Ma'am, I've been doing it for twenty years, at this point there's no one more qualified to-"

"When you served your required time in the Army, did you participate in any active conflict?" she asked, cutting to the chase, letting go of any attempt to spare Klusmann's feelings.

"Ahh, well. Congenital issue with my left lung left me unfit for service, though I was pulled away from my usual job for industrial work during the last year of the war."

"You've never even touched a military-grade orb?" she practically screeched.

This was the worst. First off, if anyone was going to be born with an issue like that and handed a career where taking it easy was part of the job description, it should have been her. Some people would never know how good they had it. Second, she assumed a baseline of competence at spellwork out of any mage that had lived through conflict. Even before the war, the Empire had been involved in a number of armed scuffles. This puffed up academic couldn't even give her that.

"When I was initially evaluated for my job I was allowed access to one to verify that my knowledge wasn't simply theoretical, and I'm retested every five years. Begging your pardon ma'am, but I could construct as grand a spell as anyone, yourself perhaps excluded."

Grand was not the issue here. _Efficient _was the issue. Anyone with enough power could make something that looked pretty. It took a hell of a lot more skill to make it compact.

"So for the past twenty years, no one who has practical experience with combat-style spells has been asked to give an opinion on the destructive capacity of commercial-grade orbs?" Tanya asked, rubbing at her temples. "Who held the office before you?"

"That would have been a former corporal after he retired from service."

"A corporal? A corporal_? _You couldn't do better than a _corporal?" _

Klusmann glared at her crossly. She'd admit that last comment had been pushing it, but she only had her boss to answer to. He had his own bones to pick with their guest.

"Talented mages usually find jobs in manufacturing, and unfortunately a government bureau can't afford to pay the same wages. I chose to pursue a more cerebral job than one working on a factory floor, and did it at the expense of my pocketbook."

She refused to use the word _miracle _to describe the situation. It wasn't. It was a beneficial side-effect of the market economy. Capable mages rarely found themselves unemployed. Thus, they had little incentive to turn to crime. That in itself had been hiding a massive problem - in the right hands, commercial-grade orbs were almost certainly capable of doing things they weren't designed for.

"Okay," Tanya sighed.

She closed her eyes, more than anything needing to retreat into her head. They were nearing Summersdorf, and before they got there, she had a few things to work out. Most importantly, what sorts of spells she needed to ask Captain Backhaus to try on her behalf. She might have been able to excuse wasting her own time, but she had two generals counting on her. She couldn't afford to wait until she was standing on the field to make a decision.

"I'm sure you'll be interested to hear, the Unified States has a new model coming out soon, it's really something-"

"Please let me think," she requested, without opening her eyes.

"You know, you're not very much like I imagined you."

The risks of responding to that statement were too great. Klusmann didn't need to imagine scenarios including her. At all. Ever. And if he had, he could keep the details to himself.

"You looked very charming in the poster."

She heard Lehrgen give a short laugh from up front. "You aren't nominated to command the Empire's most elite battalion because you smile at the right people."

Despite what he'd just said, Tanya had to bite the inside of a cheek to keep the grin off her face. Nothing formed a rapport more easily than mutual dislike of the same person. Even if she enjoyed it, she had to keep her face straight. She couldn't even smile at some people without giving them the wrong ideas.

Romel was already there when they arrived, and they followed his car along a winding path that led out to an abandoned construction site.

"We were building a new observation tower when the war ended. It's not the same as a bridge, but steel beams are steel beams," he said with a shrug. "I've taken the liberty of authorizing its demolition."

Aside from the half-built tower, her quick survey indicated that the detritus of the unfinished construction provided an ample number of targets. Wooden crates and pallets, corrugated paneling, even an old truck. A few members of Summersdorf's security guards had helpfully provided a range of weapons and ammunition laid out alongside a few types of explosives.

Tanya let her eyes roam over the goods, then turned to the man she had to grudgingly acknowledge as an expert on the subject.

"What's the most common orb in circulation?"

"That would be the Bentzinger Drachen, Ms. Degurechaff, it's a beautiful model, the-"

"Thank you," she interrupted. He could probably go on about it for days if no one stopped him. "Let's start with that one."

Klusmann nodded, withdrawing a silk bag from the ornamental wooden box he'd packed the orbs into.

"Please be careful, if you would, these can't handle the sort of strain you're used to putting on them," he warned Captain Backhaus.

Tanya kept her silence and watched while the older woman took the orb in hand, selected a rifle, loaded it, then trained it on a pile of crates. The spell she built was uninspired but reasonably efficient. It was the product of a mage who'd survived a war, not one who'd never left an office. Backhaus squeezed the trigger, and a second later the stack of wood exploded in a spectacularly anticlimactic fashion. Only a few pieces hurdled outwards from the scene; the rest collapsed in on itself.

Romel gave a whistle that said he was impressed, but Tanya didn't share the feeling. For a first try it wasn't bad, but she couldn't credit it with anything more. She'd never used a similar orb, but she'd be disappointed if she couldn't do several times better with a few weeks of practice.

"It...it shouldn't be able to do that," Klusmann said weakly. She'd never met a mage who got shaken up by such a minor detonation. It might have been more deadly than intended, but she could have made a homemade bomb with more power using nothing but ingredients from her local pharmacy.

Backhaus moved on to the next target - a basic mental container. The spell-building went faster this time, in a matter of seconds her bullet sailing towards her chosen victim. It tore a meter-wide hole through the metal where the spell had been focused, but didn't otherwise compromise the material. If that was all the destructive power the orb had, things weren't looking good for her.

Next was the real test, the unfinished tower. A spell, a pull of the trigger, and - nothing. Well, not nothing. It took a small chunk out of the beam, but structurally, everything held together without issue. A few mages aiming at once might generate enough power to damage a single beam at a time, but that would take upwards of ten minutes to trigger a collapse.

_Fuck. This is embarrassing_, she thought, hot shame pulsing through her chest. Orbs like the one being tested might be effective as a threat against the local police forces, but they weren't going to be taking down infrastructure anytime soon. Backhaus's spells weren't anything special, but at best an elite might be able to double the firepower of her most recent one. After she dragged everyone away from work over nothing, Tanya would be lucky if Lehrgen didn't dock _her _pay instead.

There was one spot of hope: if the Drachen was the most popular it would stand to reason that it was one of the cheapest. That introduced the possibility of it being one of the weakest.

"In your professional opinion, which orb is most powerful?" Tanya asked, lifting her head.

"Well, that new American orb will be when it comes on the market," Klusmann told her, apparently still hurt that she hadn't wanted to hear about it, "but for now, I'd say the Commonwealth's newest model, the Scofield Victoria."

_Goddammit, _Tanya cursed, wishing there was something in front of her to kick, when the results failed to be significantly different on the second round. The explosions had been more powerful, both due to the orb and slight improvements to spell design, but they still weren't near enough to threaten sturdy buildings.

"Well, we should try the rest just to be sure," Romel said, the disappointment evident in his tone. "It was a good thought."

"And we are now aware of certain deficiencies in the oversight process," Lehrgen added, which made Tanya wince at how obvious it was that he was trying to make her feel better.

"There were traces of explosives found at the same sites where magic was detected, correct?"

"Yes," Romel answered, clearing his throat, "but not enough."

At this point, she was grasping at straws. As Romel had pointed out, there wasn't enough residue at those locations for a chemical reaction to have done much damage, even if it was enhanced by magic. There was nothing worse than people who couldn't admit when they were wrong, except in rare cases. Cases like giving an overfed know-it-all the satisfaction of being right.

"May I see the photographs again?"

Romel's adjutant proffered a folder containing pictures of the damage, which Tanya eyed carefully for clues. Looking at it, there was nothing obvious for her to blame. A bridge in pieces, half-submerged in the river, the cuts in the steel evidence of where it had been compromised, but - _Hold on. Cuts?_ _A cut? _she thought, beginning to form an idea. First, she had to check the other photos. When she did, a clear pattern emerged - only the bridges destroyed with magical assistance looked like they'd been sliced instead of blown away.

"I know how they did it," she announced, grabbing for some of the explosives in her hand and jogging over to the watchtower, full of energy at having persevered through her latest crisis. She picked up a ladder along the way for good measure, since she wouldn't be able to reach high enough to affix her charges properly without it.

"Detonate them," she instructed Captain Backhaus when she returned, slightly out of breath and leaning over to put her hands on her knees, "but focus the energy in a single direction only."

Creating enough explosive power to separate a steel beam in half with magic alone was clearly beyond the limits of the commercial-grade technology, but manipulating the force of a detonation so that it sheared cleanly through something instead of bursting outward in all directions wasn't. It was a step beyond the basics, but with a little practice almost any mage would be capable of doing it.

With bated breath, Tanya watched as Captain Backhaus fired her weapon, then let out a sigh of relief at the result.

She began to pace back and forth as she thought. _I'm on the right track_. It hadn't been sliced in two, but there was a clear cut running partway through the steel. The spell Backhaus had built packed a decent amount of explosive punch given that she also needed a directional component, so it couldn't be blamed on inefficiency.

_What am I missing? _she wondered, surveying the items in front of her for an answer. _Arrange the explosives differently? Different orb? Different gun? _

The main question I need to solve for is how to maximize the output for a fixed amount of explosives. The consensus is that the rebel faction couldn't come up with the desired amount of incendiary material, so needed to use magic to enhance their power. Even in the locations where all destruction was done without the aid of magic, they relied on another powerful force - gravity. The way the metal tore suggests that they only destroyed enough of the support structure to weaken it into collapsing under its own weight; they couldn't pack enough in to make it cleanly break away.

"Pressure," she heard called out from behind her. She turned, and saw Lehrgen waving at her apologetically. "Sorry to interrupt you, but just based on physics, if you could artificially increase the amount of pressure, would it work?"

I guess you could say this is the benefit of surrounding yourself with intelligent people. My boss might not have a degree in chemical engineering, but his job requires a range of general knowledge. My War College curriculum was unfortunately limited due to time constraints, so I have to face up to the fact that I haven't taken a real science class in more than thirty years. Anyway, I'm not being paid enough to solve all these problems by myself. It's high time someone else contributed.

Tanya nodded. "I need to try something," she told Klusmann, pointing at the box he was holding with the orbs.

"Ms. Degurechaff, as stated previously, you cannot-"

"Permission granted," Romel interrupted. Klusmann opened his mouth, but after catching the look in Romel's eye, it snapped shut so audibly Tanya wouldn't be surprised if he'd cracked a tooth.

She picked up the first orb, letting the familiar flow of mana feed into it, careful to restrict it slightly below the stated capacity. With the Type 95, she'd never needed to worry about constructing spells in a way that maximized efficiency. But when she'd used the Type 97, she would have struggled to keep up with her men if she hadn't come up with some creative ways of minimizing expenditure. She was somewhat above average when it came to her mana capacity, but without the Type 95 she didn't have enough to easily compete with monsters like Visha and Weiss.

She watched her creation build before her eyes, pleased with the outcome after almost two years where she'd foregone anything beyond simple enhancements like body reinforcement or reheating her bathtub. After assessing it critically for errors, she released her mana, then picked up a second orb and repeated the process.

"Here," she said, presenting the one with which she'd been able to construct the most potent spell. "What's this one?"

"That would be the Kienzel 4," Klusmann replied. "Used for mainly for mining and smelting."

"Common in Oberschlesia then, I take it?"

He tapped his chin. "It's an older model, so it's not as popular anymore, but yes, at one point most of the big mining operations in the area would have owned a number of them."

"Good. Should be easier to trace that way. Try this one," she said, handing it over to Backhaus. "Did you see the pressurizing spell I made? Can you add that?"

The other woman nodded, and Tanya ran back over to the watchtower as fast as her legs could carry her to tape more explosives on. She was rewarded with a satisfying crack a minute later, the tower listing a few degrees to the left as one of its supports was severed.

A hand clapped down on her shoulder and she looked up, seeing Romel smiling down at her. "Sounds like I owe someone a drink."

A drink would be nice, but that raise Lehrgen mentioned would be nicer. She'd have to remind him about that.

Thankfully, Tanya wasn't the only one who didn't want Klusmann to dampen the festivities. He was booted out after a warning not to speak about what he'd seen until further notice. Backhaus had confided in her that she had an eleven-year-old nephew to care for after the war had left him parentless, so she took her leave as well.

The beer hall recommended by Romel's adjutant was partially underground and smelled it. Compared to the trenches, the scent of musty basement wasn't so bad, so Tanya followed without hesitation as Romel cut a path to the bar. Apparently, the establishment boasted the widest selection of beer in the city. Her knowledge of the world of Imperial brews was limited, so she took a stab at the menu quite literally, ordering what her finger landed on. She figured there was little risk with that maneuver. Living in a country world-famous for the drink had its perks.

After Romel opened up his wallet and slapped a few bills into the hands of the younger men with an admonition that they still needed to be fit to drive, she was left alone with her two superiors and a mug of cold beer.

"So," Romel asked, wiping his mouth after he drained almost half his glass in one go, "how much damage could most of those orbs do?"

"I expect that a member of my battalion could have roughly doubled the output of what you saw today," Tanya answered promptly, already having given consideration to that question during the car ride. "Besides that, a basic optical illusion could be maintained with most of the orbs. Small alterations to facial features and hair color would be all it takes to make someone disappear into the crowd, and someone in possession of one could maintain full-body strength enhancement and pain-blocking spells almost indefinitely."

I can't blame Romel for his wide-eyed reaction. I've just told him that he has an entirely new threat to account for. A terrorist, a super-soldier, and a shapeshifter all in one convenient rogue-citizen package. The world's most tasteless three-in-one special imaginable. I'm sure our lawmakers will eventually get around to putting stricter limits in place, but for now confiscating all commercial orbs would bring the economy to a screeching halt. If there's a faster way for a party to get itself voted out of office than getting its voters laid off, I haven't seen it.

"Well, as always, you've given me a lot to think about," Romel replied, gulping down the other half of his drink and waving at a server to bring a second round for everyone, despite the fact that neither of his companions were close to being finished with their first.

Tanya still had three quarters of her second beer left by the time Romel finished his third, plunked it down on the table, and announced his intention to answer the call of nature before leaving. It cleared up any question of whether she needed to worry that the Army's new management would ever consider using her for propaganda again - gentlemen didn't use the word "piss" around those they considered ladies.

As soon as he left, Lehrgen, working on the second half of his third drink, cleared his throat.

"About the Type 95. Anyone who doesn't know it exists doesn't need to. I hope you can excuse my interruption earlier."

"Understood, sir. And it was probably best we didn't get on the subject, someone would've likely had to shoot Klusmann to shut him up if he found out about it."

"In his case, I think I would have offered to help bury the body."

"Not used to being told to fill out forms and wait?"

"Not anymore," he admitted. "At least not for things like that. And for the record, I had nothing to do with that poster. I didn't think it sent the right...message."

"Was it that obvious I hated it?"

"Was giving up your uniform for a day really that bad?"

"It was three days, and you get more oxygen 10,000 feet in the air than in a corset. I'd like whoever nominated me to go to that shoot to wear one and see how they like it."

Judging by Lehrgen's reaction - eyes closed, nose scrunched, mouth drawn up into a grimace - Tanya had pushed his imagination into nightmare territory. The officer who selected her for the propaganda shoot must not have been easy on the eyes.

"Is the Christmas beer any good?"

She couldn't blame him for changing the subject so abruptly. She felt a bit guilty if she'd made gross visions float through his head. She wouldn't want anyone doing that to her.

Overall, beer was a far superior topic. Her indiscriminate pointing had landed her on the season's specialty drink. The taste wasn't bad, but it had too many flavors to be called a proper beer. She'd add it to her list of holiday traditions to forego in future years, which already included things like attending church, baking cookies, and placing lit candles on dehydrated trees. Whoever came up with that idea had probably been looking for a way to off their family without getting caught.

The advent calendar in her apartment was her only concession to the Christmas spirit, but she'd need to buy a second one before the month was out. Limiting herself to a single chocolate a day had proved impossible. She wouldn't mind getting presents, but only if she wasn't expected to give them back.

_That reminds me..._she sighed, remembering that she did have one present to give. Visha's doctor was as punctilious as an auditor. He wouldn't forget to check if Tanya had done as he suggested and purchased a gift for his patient. If she failed, they'd be back to square one, after he'd finally begun responding positively when she asked questions.

"What?" Lehrgen asked.

"I have to think up a Christmas gift for Visha. I don't know of anything worthwhile to get her."

"You should ask Lieutenant Sauer. He's got a talent for it."

She couldn't see Lieutenant Sauer, but she could tell where he was - standing in the middle of the circle of women by the bar being fawned over. She calculated that summoning him over was going to result in at least half the group drifting towards her table. Not wanting to waste the night being quizzed by Sauer's suitors, when Lehrgen turned to shout for him, she put her hand out to get his attention.

Her plan ended up being a little too successful, it would turn out. Instead of tapping his arm, she knocked her beer over and sloshed it onto his sleeve. It hadn't distracted him the way she'd intended, but it would do.

"Sorry," she apologized, handing him a few napkins. "And don't worry about calling him over. I'd rather not be joined by anyone else."

"Well, I do need to interrupt him before he forgets that he's still working, but we can finish my beer first," he said, picking up her glass and pouring half of what remained of his into it. "And you know Ms. Serebryakov better than I, but if you can't think of anything, you could always get her a scarf or something."

_That's perfect, _Tanya thought, silently thanking her boss for his wisdom. _It's practical for the winter and most of her old clothes are probably moth-eaten by now. Lehrgen's surprisingly good at picking out gifts._

She froze upon remembering the gift he'd gotten her for her birthday. In the wake of Visha's return, she'd completely forgotten about his. _Maybe he only got me something because it was an important birthday, _she comforted herself. _If he doesn't get me anything next year, I'm off the hook._

This was exactly why she didn't like exchanging presents. Before she forgot yet another item and added to the pile of failures she was accruing, she owed a word of gratitude to her boss for providing the final ingredient for salvaging her experiment.

"Thanks for earlier," she said, taking a sip from her drink, lips puckering briefly at the bitter taste, "for your idea on the pressure differential."

"I'm surprised you didn't come up with it first."

"Too used to applying magical force directly," she replied, shaking her head at her own error.

"Do you still use it? Now that you don't have an orb."

"For simple things. A bit of athletic enhancement if I want to challenge myself. I don't tend to let my coffee grow cold, but I can reheat the bath as hot and long as I like. My battalion became unaccountably popular during winter on the Eastern Front," she replied, smiling at the memory of all the "donations" her men had received from grateful comrades.

Lehrgen blinked a few times and then frowned. It was no wonder he was suddenly jealous. Soaking in a hot bath was one of life's greatest luxuries. Unfortunately, that was about the extent of it. No matter how much mana she had, it was the complexity of spells that limited their use without an orb. It was safe to say that unless someone could do multivariable calculus in their head, a skilled illusionist could impress a crowd more easily.

"So, helpful around the house, but not enough to cause trouble."

Leave it to Lehrgen to be concerned about people who weren't his responsibility. Now that he'd seen what damage magic could do without being run through a military-grade orb, his mind naturally had gone a step further and worried over how much harm an orb-less mage could inflict.

"Not unless someone's looking for a fight," she reassured. The streets of Berun could be dangerous for a diminutive lady walking alone at night. Anyone who thought she was an easy target would soon find themselves flat on their back. If they were lucky. Still, she'd feel several times safer if she had even the weakest orb in her pocket. The sooner she saved up enough to buy one, the better.

"About that raise," she began, pleased at having found a way to bring up his promise naturally, "I _was _thinking I'd like to buy myself one of the orbs on the market when I'm old enough."

"I can authorize ten percent, not increase your salary ten times," he joked.

Ten percent? In this economy, that was better than she'd hoped for. Her salary was already adjusted for inflation periodically. If they could just do this every year, she'd be well on her way to a life of ease. She'd better start thinking what she wanted to invest in.

"Time for me to ruin Sauer's evening," he continued, draining the last of his beer. "Is it bad that I enjoy it?"

Lehrgen had brought up the difficult part - that women preferred his adjutant to him - so she didn't have to act as though she hadn't noticed. She was free to give her candid thoughts on the matter.

"No sir," she replied, with a wicked grin. "I'd say he deserves it."

_Was he fishing for a compliment? _Tanya wondered for a second, when he froze in place and stared at her.

"You aren't...ahh...interested yourself, are you?"

"No," she said hurriedly, not wanting Lehrgen to mistake her annoyance for jealousy the way everyone else did. "No. Not at all. Let them have him."

"Good," he replied with evident relief. "That could have complicated things for me."

In that case, they were on the same page. No manager wanted key subordinates getting involved with each other. Workplace relationships brought nothing but trouble.

* * *

_B/N: This and the following chapter was originally one chapter, but since it was starting to become monstrously long, surpassing 19k words, it was cut in twain. Rejoice! You can think of this as an early Christmas present._

_A/N: Above note from Acerman who listened to me complain for 3 weeks about how I hate this chapter and how upsetting it is that I couldn't make a Magic Mike pun with the adjutant's name :) Too much setting up later events, not enough Tanya trying to plot against other people completely unnecessarily, which made it a struggle to put from her perspective. Also, 99% of info about orbs/magic was made up, and I think we have Jacobk to credit with the idea about different grades of orbs. At this point, it feels like canon._

_Anyhow, wish these two luck next chapter. They really need it. Fs for effort all around._


	31. You make me nervous so I really cant eat

.

**December 21, 1929**

**Potsdammer Platz, Imperial Capital Berun**

_Berun takes Christmas seriously_, Tanya concluded, as she squeezed between other shoppers making their way out of the subway station. She hadn't braved the markets last year, had gone right home to her apartment after work instead. Her warm, private, smoke-free apartment.

She couldn't even have a coffee or hot chocolate while she browsed. Or, she could, but only if she wanted to wear half of it after somebody bumped into her. Dodging bullets was easier.

After shouldering through no less than three other groups, getting her foot stepped on, and avoiding eye contact with someone begging for money, she'd successfully traversed the no-man's-land between the subway exit and the shop she wanted to visit.

Now came the real battle - picking out the right scarf. Unfolding each one to compare the length and feel the material was out of the question. There were too many. She had to attack with a strategy.

First, she'd ignore everything pink. Assuming someone wanted clothes in that color just because they were female was thoughtless. Even if Tanya suspected her friend would like it. Second, no silk. Visha wasn't a Christmas tree. She didn't need to be decorated. She'd appreciate a functional item that would keep her warm more than anything else, though Tanya would admit some personal bias might have leaked into that assumption.

The third category she'd eliminate was anything with bright colors or heavy patterns. Choosing one of those came down to a question of style, and she couldn't trust her fashion sense as a guide. Plain black or gray was good enough for her.

With those rules in mind, her quest began. Fifteen minutes later, she was ready to admit defeat. There were still too many. Too many materials, too many colors, too many lengths, too many types of knitting. Fringe or no fringe? That was the question. And this was only one quarter of one stall. There had to be at least two more scarf-sellers in the maze erected yearly around Berun's busiest intersection.

A quick mental calculation told her she was better off picking something good enough instead of searching for the best. She might be able to get more value for her money if she took her time, but her time was also valuable. To gather enough data on her different options and make a truly informed decision would take days. To pick something of decent quality that was dyed in a normal pattern would take a few minutes.

Scanning the booth, her eyes landed on a checked gray and red scarf. She ran her fingers along it to make sure it was heavy enough to be warm and wasn't too scratchy, then handed it off to the clerk for wrapping.

It was a short walk to the hospital, and not too late to visit just yet. Visiting hours would be over soon though, so she dropped in on Visha as soon as she'd paid. Her former adjutant would be under anesthesia over the holiday, so waiting until Christmas Eve would be impossible. Plus, there was no reason to take two trips when one would do.

"Tanya!" Visha exclaimed, closing the book she was reading and looking up at her.

"Sorry to intrude," she replied, silently cursing herself for not having considered that earlier. Imposing on others because it fit her schedule was an uncivilized way of conducting social calls. If she were in Visha's shoes, she wouldn't appreciate an unannounced interruption to her evening.

"No, I'm glad you came," Visha replied, gracious as ever. "I wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas before I go in for treatment again. Make sure you do something nice for yourself."

"I plan to," Tanya confirmed, wondering if Visha didn't know her a little too well at this point. Was she really so easy to read that the other woman could predict that festive celebrations weren't in her future?

Her response was a bit of a lie, but she didn't need Visha worrying herself. She didn't have anything specific in mind yet, but she'd make sure to indulge in one of life's little pleasures, even if was just soaking in the tub while picking out logical flaws in Being X's sacred text. That was guaranteed to put her in the right spirit, though perhaps not the _Christmas _spirit, per se.

"Well, I came by to drop this off," she continued, pulling the gift out of her bag.

Visha took the package and hugged it to her chest, which left Tanya wondering over the strangeness of Western gifting traditions yet again. She didn't realize such profuse displays of excitement were expected. Apparently, tearing into the wrapping like you suspected solid gold underneath was the next step in signaling your appreciation.

"Thank you," Visha said, winding the scarf around her neck, making her now-long hair puff out over the top.

_You idiot, _Tanya berated herself, for not realizing that asking a thirty-something man for his opinion on gifts would trend too close to her own ideas of what was good. _Why would she need that when the back of her neck isn't exposed?_

"Your hair's too long," she muttered.

"Ah...oh. You - you don't like it?"

Really, she didn't care about other people's haircuts. Unless it was remarkably hideous, she didn't tend to take note. Washing and combing long hair was impractical, but Visha was a woman, so it suited her just fine. It made her look more refined, like a princess out of one of those storybooks she liked.

"For the scarf," Tanya clarified. "You don't need it to keep your neck warm."

"It still makes a difference," Visha contradicted. "And I'd like it either way; it's perfect. It can go with any outfit. I'm just sorry I don't have anything for you."

"You owe me ten cups of coffee when you're released," Tanya said, with a smile at the thought, standing up to leave. "And if any of them aren't as good as I remember, you'll have to remake all of them."

"Yes, ma'am," Visha said, giving her a mock salute along with her best shot at a serious face. "I'll report for duty as soon as possible. Please leave it to me so you can relax, and have a Merry Christmas."

**December 24, 1929**

**General Staff Office, Imperial Capital Berun**

Winter sunsets came early in Berun. Not that they were generally visible behind the curtain of clouds that took up residence in the sky from November through February. There were only about eight hours to the day at the shortest point of the year, so when the obscured sun passed its midday zenith, it wasn't long until the muted light began to recede, to be replaced by the glow of streetlights and lamps.

Almost on the verge of switching his own tableside lamp on, Brigadier General von Lehrgen paused. It was Christmas Eve, a day to leave at a reasonable hour if there ever was one.

Unless there was something of utmost importance to accomplish, those who hadn't taken the day off traditionally left not long after lunch to get home to their families, light their trees, listen to the pastor berate them for not attending church more often, and unwrap their gifts. Even though he had nothing of the sort to do, remaining at the office until the usual time might make his subordinates worry that there was an issue keeping him there.

Some would ask and learn there wasn't, which would earn him a look of pity for having devoted himself so completely to work that he'd forgotten the simpler pleasures of family, friends and faith. Others wouldn't say a word, would stay until the day was done out of politeness or expectation, silent and resentful that they'd been kept at their desks for no good reason, unable to leave until their boss had.

Remain or leave, there was one employee his decision would have no impact on. She'd stay until her assigned hours were up and perhaps past, assiduously laboring away like her work was a Christmas present unto itself. After last year, he couldn't even count on her to keep away from the office the following day.

Undesiring of enduring another round of undeserved blame for forcing her to work on a holiday so important it was observed continent-wide, he knocked on Tanya's door on his way out and told her to get going herself.

"I'm in the middle of something," she said, not looking up. "I'll leave in a few hours. And anyway, with a rebellion still in progress, it's better if someone's here if a call comes. I don't have anything particular planned so you don't need to worry you're keeping me."

Oh. Right. She had no family and her only friend in the entire city was recovering in a hospital. Lehrgen might not have anyone to get home to, but he'd lived in Berun for years, and had at least a few friends who could be counted on to open their home if he so desired. He even had distant relatives sprinkled throughout the city. None that he was close with, but he could always call on that eccentric second cousin if he was feeling desperate.

"Degurechaff, you can't spend Christmas at the office," he sighed.

"I still plan on taking tomorrow off," she said defensively.

"Unless you're in the middle of devising a universal cure to disease, it can wait," he told her. "I don't need it looking like I'm overworking you. And tomorrow's a holiday as well, so if you don't have anything important for Friday, you can take the rest of the week."

"Alright," she agreed, beginning to clean up her desk. "Home it is."

"Head over to _Gendarmenmarkt_ and buy yourself something tomorrow," he added, remembering his resolution to encourage her towards a normal life. "It's good to get out sometimes."

"I do hope you're taking your own advice," she chuckled, with a knowing smile.

Coming from anyone else, he would have accepted that criticism with good humor. But of all people, Tanya thought he needed to get out more? _Tanya_? Was he really so bad about it that even she'd noticed?

"I'll be at The Adlon," he muttered, wincing at the petulance that leaked into his tone.

The look of surprise she gave him was almost offensive. He did have friends, thank you _very_ much. Most of them would be celebrating at home with their families, but in a city as big as Berun, there were always bound to be enough people who couldn't or didn't want to make it back to the countryside, or, like him, had no easily accessible family remaining, so would gather in the city's finest hotel so as not to spend Christmas entirely alone.

"I hear their restaurant is the best in the city," she commented.

"It is, and for what they charge it better be," he laughed.

"I never thought I'd be able to get in," she said obliquely.

…_Is she really about to invite herself?_ he groaned internally, sensing from her expectant posture that indeed she was. He remembered that back when she'd been on training detail two years ago she'd jumped at the chance to get free meals, but this level of forwardness was considerable even for her.

He did want Tanya to expand her horizons and get to know the world outside the Army, but that didn't extend to wanting her to ruin his Christmas. There was enough of a social club at The Adlon that they could each drift their separate ways through the crowd once he got her through the door to the private ballroom, but knowing that she was in the immediate vicinity he wouldn't have the night he planned - one of drinking, dancing, and deep conversation with old friends and acquaintances that he'd neglected for too long. He had a trump card for denying her, though. Tanya was not a woman of many weaknesses, but he knew of at least one.

"Yes, well, unfortunately they aren't going to take a woman who isn't in a dress, so you'll have to content yourself with imagining the menu," he said, giving her a fake look of regret.

"Oh," she exclaimed, feigning surprise, "so you're saying if I had one…?" she asked, leaving the question hanging.

Lehrgen looked surreptitiously at his watch and felt a sense of triumph. Even if she wanted to buy herself something appropriate last minute, she was too late.

"Pity," he drawled, "but I do believe the stores are all closed by now."

"That's not a problem," she said hastily. "Ugar's wife sent about a thousand home with me."

If Lehrgen had been given a million guesses, he didn't think he'd have ever expected that _clothing _was what had been in the box shipped to the office while she was away. He briefly wondered what sort of ogre Frau Ugar was if she'd strong-armed Tanya into an all-day shopping trip, but then returned his thoughts to his own predicament.

If she wanted to go so badly she'd be willing to put on that most dreaded piece of attire, he practically had to take her. After all, he had been the one that insisted she get out of the office, and the way he'd phrased his refusal had ended up backfiring on him so sensationally it was hard to imagine how it could have gone worse. _I'll find a few people who are trustworthy enough not to get completely taken in by her and leave her with them once we're through the door, _he resolved. If he was lucky, one of the wealthy patrons would offer her too much money to switch jobs to turn down.

"Well," he replied, defeated more thoroughly than the Imperial Army had ever been, "I can get you in if you meet me in the lobby at seven."

She frowned. "You can't pick me up?"

_And...why would I do that?_ he nearly asked. On the verge of refusing her, he recalled the difficulty that walking in heeled shoes had given her the only time he'd seen her try. She probably wouldn't make it to the end of her block on her own, and if she didn't live near any hotels, finding a cab could prove difficult on such a night.

"I'll stop by on my way," he sighed. "Write down your address and be ready by 6:45."

At least if there was one thing he could count on her for, it was not to be late.

**December 25, 1929**

**Lichterfeld, Imperial Capital Berun**

_I should have these organized better, _Erich von Lehrgen told himself for the ninth year in a row, turning through each cufflink in his collection to find the match for the one already on his left arm.

Every year he promised himself he'd put them all back into their individual boxes so the pairs remained together and he never again had to upend a velvet bag on a table and spill every piece he owned out. Every year, it only grew worse. One way or another, he'd acquire a new set, adding them to the already voluminous collection. Some were heirlooms, some were gifts, others the product of a rare personal indulgence which somehow always resulted in him purchasing a new set to be stashed away and never seen again instead of investing in something more practical.

Two-thirds of the way through the pile, he came upon the design he'd been looking for and hurriedly threaded it through his right sleeve. Pausing for a quick look in the mirror and straightening his white bowtie, he grabbed a light coat, the day unseasonably warm, and dashed out the door of his house, almost forgetting to grab the house key before he left, already seven minutes late for the taxi he'd arranged.

When possible, he always built in extra time to his schedule, five or ten minute buffers to account for the minor inconveniences that popped up, so he arrived in front of Tanya's apartment building exactly when he'd planned. There was no need to press the buzzer to call her down. As soon as he got out of the car, the door to her building opened and she walked out.

He wasn't sure if he was more relieved or more disappointed that she was dressed basically appropriately. Without Viktoriya's help there was no makeup and her hair wasn't styled, just brushed with more care than usual, but she wouldn't be turned away at the door. If she'd come out in something other than her staid but elegant dress, it could have provided him with an excuse to leave her at home.

As soon as she closed the door to the car, she began quizzing him on who she could expect to meet, their names, their backgrounds, their professions. She was so interested, in fact, that he began to wonder if the meal was of secondary importance to who she'd meet. _Already looking to make connections for when you take back your career as an officer, are we? _he thought, gamely giving his best guesses on who would be in attendance tonight.

For any other subordinate officer whose career he'd taken a personal interest in, Lehrgen would've made every attempt at making introductions with the right people. _Come meet Herr Schmidt, his company manufactures orbs. And there's Herr Schieder who we've just agreed to purchase a new line of rifles from. Don't forget Herr Fischer, he controls half the port of Amburg. _For Tanya, he would need to be more selective.

They arrived and pulled up in front of the exterior of the hotel, which was nothing ostentatious. The modesty ended in the lobby. It was hard to know where to look with the frescoes and paintings and gold detailing. There were salons large and small for hotel guests on the main floor, several of which functioned as informal clubs accessible to those who had been invited to pay the dues. He had a childhood friend to thank for putting him on the right list when he'd first made the city his permanent residence. The expense it cost him was more than made up for by the convenience of not having to arrange a dinner to see each and every person he kept up with.

Tonight, the size of the event would require one of the ballrooms instead. By the time he was giving his name to the liveried attendant at the door, Lehrgen hadn't come up with a good solution to who he could safely introduce to Tanya. Bankers, lawyers, journalists, academics - they all wielded some degree of power and could be influenced by the wrong words out of her. They were better than the more politically-focused alternatives, though, so when Lehrgen spotted Werner Hochstetter, the heir to a small but exclusive bank whom he'd shared a few drinks with in the past, he didn't hesitate to engage him in conversation.

To his shock, Tanya began to chat animatedly, the habitual terse manner she took when asked about any subject besides her work hidden behind a mask of ebullience that soon pulled nearby ears into a circle around her. That arrangement suited him perfectly, making it simple to quietly ease away and search for a few friends. He'd only have to find her again once he was ready to call it a night.

On second thought, there were plenty of cabs waiting out front. She could leave on her own. His only job was to pick up a cocktail off one of the trays circling around and keep an occasional eye out to make sure she wasn't up to anything.

_Too sweet, _he thought, taking his first sip of punch and scanning the room to see who he knew. The drink had grown on him by the third sip, when he identified Bruno von Hammerstein by his short stature and shock of black hair. He was a close friend to his elder brother, and never failed to regale his audience with the adventurous tales of his time spent running through the jungles of the Southern Continent building his business empire. Lehrgen hadn't seen him since the war ended, but judging by the tanned face and sharp new suit, he hadn't let the demise of their colonies stop him.

"Erich," Hammerstein called out in that booming voice of his when he noticed him approaching. "I would address you by your title but it changes each time I see you."

"Not on the Southern Continent anymore I take it?"

"No, no, I got out of there before I lost everything."

"The family's back in Berun, then?"

"I had some business to take care of here, but they're all at our new home in Madinah."

"Isn't that dangerous? Magna Rumeli could topple any day."

"And I intend to profit from it," Hammerstein said with a dark grin. "Who's the girl you handed off to Hochstetter?"

"You know the name Tanya Degurechaff?"

"I have read a newspaper in the past two years. Republican journalists still haven't tired of comparing anyone they don't like to her. I suppose our national hero can't be as bad as they say if you've brought her out of whatever cage you all keep her in."

"She did earn her reputation," Lehrgen emphasized, before clarifying that he hadn't brought her there of his own volition. "And I didn't get much of a choice."

"Hard to reinstate her as an officer without cleaning up some of the bad rumors?" Hammerstein guessed. "Having a few influential outsiders with good opinions of her isn't a bad idea. I'll try to let that be known as I make the rounds."

That explanation was less embarrassing than admitting Tanya had duped him into providing a foothold for her social climbing, so he'd go with it if anyone else asked.

"Anyway, what's it like out in the Arabian lands? Is it as exotic as it sounds?" Lehrgen questioned, switching the subject back.

With a gleam in his eye, Hammerstein leaned in closer. When his first words were "don't tell my wife, but…" Lehrgen knew he was in for a proper story, so grabbed a second glass of punch and prepared to listen to the annals of a life far more interesting than his own.

Not long after the clock struck nine, another old friend that he was in the midst of catching up with turned his head in Tanya's direction for the umpteenth time.

"Do you want me to introduce you?" he finally asked.

"I thought you'd never offer. It's not often I get the chance to debate insurance regulations with someone without boring them to death, and from what I'm hearing, she could give any academic a run for his money. Talk around the room is there's a fair few who wouldn't mind seeing her here again."

With a sigh, Lehrgen acquiesced and began making his way over. This was not the first, second, or even third friend who'd drifted away from him and gravitated towards Tanya, who was commanding her corner of the room with the same efficacy as she'd commanded her battalion. It all felt very unfair. He was glad she was meeting people, she did need more friends, but she couldn't very well have his. He wanted to shake all of them and shout, _Please don't let her fool you, she isn't like this all the time! _

When he got close enough that he could actually see her, she was valiantly trying to escape from none other than Bruno von Hammerstein, who was attempting to convince her to join him for a dance on the central part of the floor. _That's guaranteed to make a spectacle, _Lehrgen thought with a shake of his head. _Can they not tell that she's barely moved because standing in heels is the limit of her ability?_

He couldn't have her making a fool of herself, much as it might be gratifying to see. Public humiliation would only make her cling tighter to the safe harbor she'd found in the General Staff Office. And anyway, he didn't want to have to call an ambulance for Hammerstein after she broke his ankle.

"Leave her be," he admonished, separating the two and pulling Hammerstein aside. "Unless you're feeling especially brave."

"I thought the idea was to make her seem a less menacing character," he replied with good humor. "If she's here to help her climb the ranks, she needs people to think her refined instead of savage."

"Well, that's why she thinks she's here," Lehrgen agreed. "Personally, I'm hoping she'll agree to become something other than an officer one day."

Hammerstein's face lit up eagerly at the allusion to a more complex game being played. He was something of a hobbyist when it came to following rivalries.

"Don't go letting her know I have other intentions," Lehrgen warned a second later. He wouldn't put it past Hammerstein to concoct a drama for himself to watch unfold.

"So you have your own reasons for wanting to introduce her to society, then. I wouldn't have expected it out of you."

"Her case is different," he defended himself. He'd always enjoyed a good reputation among the officers, wasn't one given to professional backstabbing. It wouldn't do to have anyone think this was going to become a habit of his.

"Having met her now, I can agree. I don't blame you for it. If I overhear anyone's interested in her I'll give them a discreet hint. Either way, you can't keep her from ever having to dance with another person," he said, clapping Lehrgen on the shoulder with a wink.

_That's true, _he considered, turning back towards Tanya, rather pleased with the result of his intervention if Hammerstein was going to start keeping his ear out for those who might be interested in offering Tanya a new job. _If I want her to make a good impression, she will have to fit in with the right crowd. _

"Thank you," Tanya said, shuffling over to him and interrupting his thoughts.

"You will have to learn one day, you realize. I can think of at least one person who'd be happy to teach you if you'd like."

Even better than having a friend who would teach her, Lehrgen had someone he felt nothing but personal enmity for in mind. The thought of Klaus Hornig having a professional crisis over his inability to reform Tanya into a graceful lady was so delightful it counted as a Christmas gift to himself.

"Maybe one day," she deflected. "For now, I think I'd rather be introduced to the menu."

_What? No one else offered to feed her yet? _Lehrgen agonized as he realized that he was being led over to a table with a few open chairs. He'd counted on one of her newfound acquaintances paying for her, so it was an unwelcome surprise. It's not that he couldn't afford it, but he'd prefer not to further devastate his evening by sitting through a meal with Tanya. She wouldn't do it intentionally, but she had such a unique perspective on most subjects that it didn't make for easy table talk.

She waved down a waiter, and shortly, they were in possession of the card containing the night's specialties, from which she proceeded to order the single most expensive item. Lehrgen had to order something light for himself instead of the lamb he'd planned on having since it had less of a chance of turning sour in his stomach when Tanya inevitably said something disquieting. He included with it a glass of the best wine they had, declining to order a bottle to split and bump her portion of his bill higher.

Before she had the chance to think up a topic that would leave his head spinning until New Year's, he brought up a subject that had been on his mind of late.

"Are you still visiting Ms. Serebryakov twice a week?" he asked.

She nodded.

"How is she doing?" he continued, after she offered no further information on her own.

"Better, actually. She'll have trouble walking for a while yet, but her mental state is improving rapidly. The doctor thinks she'll get back to normal eventually," Tanya replied.

"Well, that's…good to hear," he said, chewing on his words carefully. Come to think of it, he wasn't entirely positive how well-educated Tanya was on certain facts of life, and he certainly wasn't going to ask, so he had to dance lightly around the subject. "I hope she can put whatever happened in the past two years behind her."

"It wasn't…nothing happened, really," she clarified, clearing her throat. "Due to being the only female she was by herself the whole time, and it got to her head."

"Ah," was all he said to that fortuitous piece of news. "Do you know when she'll be released from the hospital?"

Tanya shrugged. "In the next few months, probably."

"And what then? I can't imagine she's going to be ready for work again so soon," he said worriedly.

Of course, he was worried about Viktoriya's future for her own sake, but for now he had another job in mind for her. He needed her help to encourage Tanya into becoming a halfway-normal human being, so it would be a problem if she became otherwise occupied.

Tanya brought her arms up and crossed them with an unhappy sigh. "She'll have to move back in with her relatives for now. They both lost their jobs after the war so they're in some village or other two hours outside the city. I'm not sure how Visha'll ever look for work from there."

"That's...disappointing," Lehrgen grimaced.

"The Army will stay pay for her medical care, but once she's out of the hospital she'll be on her own for housing and food," Tanya spat. "She was a conscript injured in the line of duty and through no choice of her own she'll be made practically homeless. Even if my budget allowed for it, my neighborhood wouldn't be the safest for someone like her. The Communist Party has too much of a presence in the central parts of Berun to make it easy living for a former Rus noble who can't walk without help. You wouldn't be able to make an appeal to anyone who deals with that type of case, would you?"

"I can't," he said, shaking his head. "I wish I could tell you different, but there's a million others with the same story, we don't have the money to feed and clothe and house them all, however unfair that seems."

Tanya hummed in disappointment. "I was hoping to keep her around. She won't be easy to replace."

_Try __impossible__ to replace, _Lehrgen thought with amusement. Another woman that Tanya respected enough to call a friend and who, even more amazingly, _wanted _to be called Tanya's friend? There might not be another one if they searched the world over.

It was refreshing to hear that Tanya had a few bones to pick with the military, which could perhaps be exploited in the future to separate her from it, but for now, the news that Viktoriya would be moving out of Berun in the near future was putting a serious dent in Lehrgen's personal crusade to make Tanya too attached to her everyday life to ever consider ruining it in favor of going to war again. It might even embitter her against the world further.

"You're right that someone should take responsibility for what happened to her," he began, the offer he intended to make a strange one, but a necessary sacrifice. It would be easier than finding Tanya a new friend, and perhaps cheaper than paying someone to spend time with her after they realized how ornery she could be. "If you found her an apartment I could put up the funds. Consider it my apology for authorizing the order that almost ended both your lives."

"I was the one who asked you to do it," Tanya replied with a humorless sniff of laughter.

"I could have fought harder to have you reassigned north during those last weeks," he admitted. "I owe it to both of you. Find her something decent in a good area."

She shook her head and he saw her fist clench around her knife. Hopefully that wasn't a sign he was in imminent danger of being stabbed. He'd forgotten to consider that she might get angry with him for not having taken her side more strongly when it counted most; if so, his offer of help was going to turn into an argument.

"I should've tried harder too," she muttered. "I didn't want to get in trouble over my attitude like I did after the evacuation at Brest, but if I'd just-,"

"Degurechaff," he interrupted her, "you tried your best to warn us on more than one occasion. You did more than enough."

Her mouth slightly ajar, she looked completely at a loss for words. It was the same as how she'd acted after she'd made a minor judgment error in Norden and let the enemy ships escape, as if to her not doing everything was the equivalent of doing nothing. He felt the weight of pity well up in his chest for a person who couldn't stand for anything less than perfection.

"I'll look for an apartment for her when it's time," she said quietly after a moment. "Thank you."

Their food arrived shortly afterwards and shook them out of the unhappy subject matter they'd fallen into, the conversation turning to easier topics, which it thankfully didn't stray from for the remainder of the evening, so he didn't even think to complain when she ordered them each a dessert and then ate both portions herself. When it was time to leave, some of the lightness to his step could be attributed to things other than alcohol. He was finally making appreciable progress on his most intractable problem.

—

If someone would ever like to write a book on how to leverage your social network, I humbly invite them to come interview me. Just look at what a difference cultivating the right friendship makes. Humans really do make their own luck.

I'll be the first to admit I made a mistake in seeking out General von Romel when I originally took my job search to the General Staff Office. It's natural to think the person at the top will prove the most useful, but let this be a lesson that it isn't always so. Aside from being easy to work with, judging by my current situation, Lehrgen has a wider network of academically-minded professionals he keeps in touch with than Romel. It's no surprise that he also sees the value in keeping up useful relationships outside of politicians and other officers.

Let the success of my time here tonight also remind everyone that getting ahead requires doing things you'd prefer to avoid. Making small talk might be mind-numbing, but it's an invaluable tool for convincing people that you care about the minutiae of their lives. I don't like playing the sympathy card, but once I learned that a close friend rubs shoulders with everyone who's anyone at the city's premiere hotel, I had no choice but to play on his guilt over the fact that this is the first Christmas I get to enjoy.

It was a bit embarrassing to ask to be driven to dinner, but my experience walking in any sort of heel is severely lacking. I almost fell on the way in, and my face burned in shame when my unlucky companion caught me before I sprawled on the ground. But, I put aside my personal qualms on such matters, and it has borne delicious fruit.

First off, I met several extremely useful connections before dinner. I did my best to leave a good impression on them, but the best case scenario would be if I can follow it up with future contact. I wouldn't want to be forgotten. I'll see if my benefactor is amenable to bringing me by a few more times. It might seem like there would be nothing in it for him, but if I continue to make a good name for myself, it will reflect well back on him. He understands the value of a good reputation if the name he's made for himself is any indication. I'm sure he'd like to believe that I'm working to establish some social capital to enhance my career as an officer, and if it's necessary, I'll imply that I might be open to changing my mind on that matter. As long as I keep it to references about this evening's importance to the future of my career, it won't even be a lie.

It's easy to get along with someone who thinks the same way you do when it comes to what's important. From the day I was hired, I had high hopes that becoming friendly with the person sitting next to me would yield results. "I will ensure your compensation matches your value" are words that everyone can rejoice in hearing. There's no better relationship than one rooted in mutual trust in the other's ability to uphold their end of a bargain. It's almost enough to make me not want to look for another job in a few years. My résumé should be rife with worthwhile work by then, and tonight I have met bankers, lawyers, and politicians who might consider hiring me if I am diligent in keeping in contact with them.

I wouldn't leave my current work undone though, so to assuage the guilt I feel over abandoning the very person responsible for kicking off what is sure to be a stellar career, I've applied myself to the best of my abilities and am keeping longer hours than I'd like to. As a former salaryman, I still find it almost impossible to leave the office before my boss, and unfortunately he likes to work late. For my own peace of mind, I should encourage him to get out more. Appreciation for the finer things in life is what makes us human, after all.

My only regret is that it will be hard to find another superior who is so willing to put up with mistakes. Hearing someone say I'd done enough, despite the fact that in the end I'd done nothing but fail miserably, shocked me so much I didn't know how to respond. It shouldn't surprise me, I suppose, given that Lehrgen didn't consider the front a good atmosphere for a child from the very start. He can't bring himself to blame me for losing my last battle, and possibly the entire war as a result, when I shouldn't have been there at all.

After his generous offer to shoulder the burden of Visha's expenses, I almost felt I should warn him that being too charitable often ends up in being taken advantage of, but I wouldn't want him to become less open-handed with me as well. And after all, helping each other is what friends do. There's no point in having a friend who isn't useful, so it's only natural that I accept the benefits that come along with it. I'll just have to make sure he doesn't mysteriously end up with the spare key to Visha's apartment.

All in all, I can only describe tonight as a meteoric success. And the proverbial cherry on top is that I got to eat exquisite food entirely for free. I'm feeling so benevolent I'll even join in the holiday cheer. I'd like to wish everyone a Merry Christmas, and most of all, a Merry Christmas to me.

* * *

_A/N The score of today's match was Tanya: +2000 career points; Lehrgen: -2000 deutschmarks. Looking back at this day exactly two years into their future, it will be Tanya: +2000 calories; Salaryman: minus infinity; Lehrgen: minus 10 years lifespan; Being X: dies, but dies laughing._

_Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Io Saturnalia to everyone out there! Some Christmas music to get you in the mood [Jingle Hell; Verse 1]_

_I just can't say no  
When she wants to ruin my day  
Over my objections she goes  
Laughing all the way_

_She's the last girl I want to bring  
Out with me tonight  
My abject failure really stings  
It's filling me with spite_

_Oh...Jingle Hell, Jingle Hell, she even made me pay  
Won't someone please take Tanya from me, she won't fucking go away_


	32. Send Nudes

.

**December 26, 1929**

**Upper East Side, Manhattin, New Yourke City, Unified States of America**

It wasn't easy being an immigrant from the Empire these days. Unless, of course, you had money. Then it wasn't so hard. There was a new language to speak, a new political system to navigate, new friends to make, new customs to learn. You could pay people to take care of most of those details for you.

At home, where Germanian was still spoken and the cook still made the Empire's specialties, the distance was easy to forget. Especially so in a city with thousands upon thousands of first-generation immigrants of Imperial stock. There were bars and banks and bakers where every client and every employee all hailed from the same fatherland, conversed in the same tongue, and reminisced over the same fond memories of their glory days.

Otto von Lehrgen hadn't uprooted his family and moved them to the States so that they could pretend they still lived in the Empire. He was a forward-looking man. Certain important traditions were preserved for his children's sake - gifts had been opened on the 24th instead of the 25th, as his host country insisted on doing - and even those might fall by the wayside in another year or two.

His oldest would be the only one who had any real memories of the place she'd grown up, and in a few months he'd welcome his first child who was American by virtue of birth. It would be a kindness, ultimately, not to hold them back by preventing them from integrating fully into their new home. He might shed a tear or two in old age, that at this rate, his children might be the final generation of von Lehrgens who would pronounce their last name without a foreign accent, but what did that matter compared to the promising future they had in the land of opportunity?

If Otto was going to demand his family change their ways, he couldn't refuse to do so himself. In the Empire, December 26th was a holiday. In the Unified States, it wasn't. Half of the bankers he kept in touch with didn't celebrate Christmas anyway, so over his wife's protests, he locked himself in his study after breakfast and sat down to work like it was any other Thursday.

Just past lunch, he picked up the phone and heard a familiar voice on the other end. He'd met Bruno von Hammerstein at university. His irrepressible vivacity took some getting used to, but nothing made friends faster than discovering a common cause. As it would turn out, both had only been pursuing higher education as an excuse to avoid settling down and turning into their fathers. Otto had only been able to stave off that fate for so long, but his friend never had lost his energy for mischief and mayhem.

He wrote to Bruno like clockwork every few weeks, but trying to keep track of where he was in the world and what time it would be appropriate to call was too much trouble, never mind that Bruno was often in a location with no phone service whatsoever, so it had been months since they'd last heard each other's voices. His friend never called unless he had something newsworthy to report, or when he was looking to borrow money for his latest adventure. So far, he'd returned it all with profits included. Otto was fairly certain his money had funded a few local conflicts at this point, so he did his best not to listen _too _hard to any descriptions of how it was being misused.

As usual, Bruno about talked his ear off for the better part of an hour, though Otto managed to get a few words in edgewise. At length he was updated on the rivalries of every last tribe from the Levant down through the Arabian Peninsula, an implausible number of which involved the narrator as a main character, then informed that riding a camel wasn't as glamorous as it sounded, and finally, treated to a foreign version of yodeling that Bruno swore was an exact rendition of the call to prayer he heard every morning.

It was only when he brought up a topic as drab as the daily news headlines that Otto knew his friend was stalling. Bruno never wanted to talk about the news more than he wanted to talk about himself. If he'd run out of stories and was still going, it could only be because there was an exciting piece of gossip he was holding back. He was too smart to tell other people's secrets himself, so he'd wait for Otto to mention it and confirm he was aware before launching in. It was a dance they'd repeated time and again over the years.

"Out with it," Otto eventually demanded, tapping his pen impatiently against his chin, for the first time in his memory not sure what the scandal-of-the-moment was.

"Have you talked to your brother today?"

Not a scandal, then. Definitely not. He'd think it another promotion, but even picture-perfect officers the likes of which all good Preussian grandfathers dreamed of having in the family didn't jump ranks through the generalships _that _fast.

"Is he in the hospital?" Otto finally guessed, deciding that perhaps his brother had slipped on some ice the night before and Bruno had ended up responsible for getting him to the doctor, so was calling to report it. He couldn't think of a worse person to be stuck with. Bruno's bedside manner would be nothing but recounting stories of his own injuries, which were always much worse and earned in much manlier ways. One of these days, Otto was going to ask him to lift up his shirt to see if all those scars were _really _there.

"No, but he threatened to send me to one last night."

"That...can't be right," Otto sputtered. "Why?"

His brother had joined the Army because he'd never gotten over his love of setting up toy soldiers on the oversized map he'd gotten for his eighth birthday, theorizing about how certain famous battles might have been decided differently. Not because he'd wanted an excuse to hit people. Even in his younger years, Erich had never gone through that stage where getting drunk and starting a fight or two was to be expected. Which frankly, Otto thought was unhealthy, but that was an argument for another time.

"It was over the girl he brought to the Christmas party."

Well then. Maybe his children wouldn't be the last Germanian-speaking von Lehrgens after all. It was about time. Though Otto was a bit insulted he hadn't heard that news first.

"He didn't say he was taking anyone when we spoke on Tuesday. Who was it?"

"A one Ms. Tanya Degurechaff. She's one-of-a-kind, I'll give him that. Better as a business partner than a romantic one far as I could tell, but to each their own."

"That's impossible."

"I swear it on my mother's grave."

"Bruno, I know my brother, and I'm telling you, it's impossible. If he brought her, it was for some other reason, and someone probably made him do it."

Another item on Bruno's endless list of things he should be afraid of but wasn't were experimental drugs. Evidently, he'd gotten his hands on something powerful during his travels abroad. No point in getting worked up over whatever hallucination he was in the grips of. Tanya might no longer be a forbidden name in the von Lehrgen household, but Erich's opinion of her couldn't have changed _that _much.

"That's what I thought at first. Apparently orders from above are to make some introductions for her. All I did was try to dance with the girl and he was over a second later pulling us apart."

"Are you sure it wasn't for another reason?"

Bruno recounted the threat he'd been given - that he should only dance with her if he was feeling brave enough for a fight over it, including a remarkably good imitation of his brother's clipped, snappy tone, the same that all the officers had drilled into them, still overlaid with the hint of higher vowels carried over from the dialect they'd heard in their childhood.

"It makes some sense why he'd want to get her acquainted with everyone," Bruno conceded, as he finished his story. "Former lieutenant colonel or no, she'll never be fit to be an officer's wife if she doesn't know the first thing about polite society."

"...that's true…" Otto commented, only half-listening, mind still occupied by patent disbelief. This wasn't like Erich at all. He wasn't impulsive, wasn't whimsical, was cautious and prudent to a fault. There was little you could take on faith from Bruno, and something _this _outlandish certainly didn't qualify.

"Don't tell him I told you," Bruno made him promise, which Otto did, fully intending to break it as soon as they hung up.

It took a minute for his call to reach overseas, going through however many operators it needed to get out of New Yourke, out of the States, into the Empire, to Berun, and then to Number 86 Kommandantenstraße.

He went through all the usual questions - how are things, anything new, how was Christmas, anything interesting at the party? - and there wasn't a single mention of taking a fancy to a girl, bringing her anywhere, Tanya's name wasn't brought up at all, which was strange in itself. That, more than anything, convinced Otto that something out of the ordinary had happened with her. Typically, she earned at least a mention, if not the better part of the conversation if you knew how to push Erich's buttons right.

Of course his brother would make this difficult because he was embarrassed about such a drastic change of heart. Although, Otto himself was part of the problem, and he knew it. He may have gone a touch too far with some of his jokes. Perhaps it was the time his wife was pregnant with their second child and he'd maintained for months that if it was another girl, they'd name her Tanya.

_How do I approach this? _he grumbled to himself, telling some pointless story about his children to keep Erich on the phone as he puzzled over the best way to inquire into his personal life, which he tended to be private about regardless of any other factors. _Direct. Direct is best, _he decided. Dancing around an awkward subject only prolonged the agony.

"Bruno told me about what happened with Tanya," he said, all in one breath.

There was a pause, Erich's commentary cutting off mid-sentence, and then a long, controlled inhale came from the other end of the line, and he could imagine exactly the face his brother was making, eyes closed, jaw set, heel of his palm pressed into his forehead.

"If you're calling just to amuse yourself because I was stupid enough to let her get her way with me-"

"No," Otto interrupted, feeling that he was about to be hung up on and needing a second to process that last statement. What had that girl done to his poor, dear brother that he had to describe it as _get her way with_? He hadn't realized it was _that _serious already. _Congratulations, I guess? _If he said that out loud, the next thing he'd hear was the click of the receiver.

"I just...you know how Bruno exaggerates, I didn't know if he was telling the truth," he continued after a moment.

"He was, for once, and in that case, you're forgiven," Erich sighed. "But only if you don't say anything more about it."

_If you're that touchy about it, fine, _Otto thought, with an indulgent smile, twirling his pen through his fingers with glee. He'd have to be more careful on how he approached this subject matter in future conversations. He didn't mean to make Erich miserable, but sometimes he made himself too easy to tease. An older brother couldn't help it. And _someone _had to bring him down a notch every once in a while.

**January 7, 1930**

**General Staff Office, Imperial Capital Berun**

_Sometimes, the simplest ideas are the hardest ones to come up with._

That was all Brigadier General Erich von Lehrgen could think while he stared, dumbfounded, at Tanya Degurechaff. For once, it wasn't because what she'd said was hard to follow, her agile mind ten paces ahead of his as he struggled to keep up. No. He wasn't the least bit confused by her words. What had shocked him near speechless was that he hadn't ever thought of this before. Or if not him, then someone. Anyone.

_It's so obvious a child could see it, but it took a veritable genius to point it out, _he grumbled crossly, wondering how every military worldwide had collectively failed so miserably to reach this self-evident conclusion. Just a few years ago, they'd been able to boast several million men on the rolls of the Imperial Army alone, among them some of the brightest strategists, inventors, and problem-solvers to be found in the country, if not in the world, and yet not a single one of them had ever suggested such a thing as Tanya just had.

Lehrgen cleared his throat, smoothed out the papers in front of him, put an elbow on his desk, then dropped his forehead down onto an open palm. It wasn't a very professional response. He should have waited for Tanya to leave before making a display like this, and maintained a collected and composed exterior in front of his subordinate.

But he wasn't an automaton, and he'd recently confirmed, definitively, that she wasn't either. So what was the point in pretending, in putting on an act for no one's benefit? She'd known him long enough that he should be able to relax a bit in front of her.

"Sir?" she questioned, a touch of worry evident in her tone. "...is there...did I say something wrong?"

"No, Degurechaff, no. You did not," he said, head still collapsed down into his hand. "I'm just trying to remember the last time someone made me feel like such an idiot."

"Sorry," she gushed out, and she really did sound it. "Please allow me to apologize, that's not what I - I didn't mean to imply-"

"It's fine," he interrupted. "You did nothing wrong. Nothing at all. This is exactly why I like having you around. I just can't believe no one else ever said something before."

"Well, I have some advantages other people don't," she deflected. "Even if something's obvious with the benefit of hindsight, that doesn't make everyone else an idiot for missing it."

Lehrgen wasn't sure if it was more startling that Tanya cared enough to try to give him a few words of emotional comfort, or that it actually meant something to him. Regardless, he felt slightly better upon hearing her say that she didn't look on him with utter disdain for the oversight.

_It would have been nice to have been born an actual genius, _he thought, _and not simply a bit smarter than average, enough that everyone expects great things out of you but not near enough to guarantee total superiority like someone I know. _He raised his gaze to look at the person in front of him, who was biting a nail as though she was nervous.

He certainly wasn't going to share that thought with her. After the explosive backlash he'd received when he'd caught her at the piano and mentioned how lucky she was to have been born with so much raw ability, he had no plans to ever bring that topic up again. Watching her inexplicably volatile reaction and accompanying mood shift had resurfaced the question of how stable she truly was - whether she'd grown and changed for the better, or if her recent lack of maniacal glee over war, killing, and other atrocities had more to do with her environment and the absence of provocation for her worst habits.

And anyway, maybe being a genius wasn't all it was cracked up to be. Life seemed like it would be so easy, if only he could be as smart as Tanya. But the haunting finality with which she'd called her greatest gift a curse had stuck with him. It made him think that no matter what she did, whether she wanted to be normal or not, by accident of birth she couldn't help but be a perplexing, often unsettling existence. That she'd been made so differently than the rest of them, instead of easier, it made life difficult for her, perhaps oppressively so. That living a simple, regular life would always escape her.

And to him, that sounded like a far worse lot in life than struggling to rise above mediocrity. He didn't envy her for it, even felt a touch of compassion for the unseen and lonely battle she waged as she tried to adapt herself to a world not made for people like her.

"I'll get this down to procurement," he promised, forcing himself to stop his increasingly morose train of thought. "We'll get them working on the best color match for desert sand. I've never been down to the Southern Continent myself, so when they send up all the samples, I'll let you vote which is best on my behalf."

It really was the simplest thing. The army had finally gotten around to redesigning its uniforms. The alterations were slight, but no one wanted to wear the uniform of a country that had lost the largest war humankind had ever known. Tanya, of course, was no longer issued one, so when she'd walked into his office at 2 PM sharp, just as scheduled, the first thing she'd done upon commencing their meeting had been to comment on the changes.

"I liked the old color better," Lehrgen had mentioned, somewhere along the way. There wasn't much difference, truth be told. The new uniforms had a more faded, gray-washed version of the rich green he was accustomed to, more modern but less visually pleasing.

"So did I," she'd agreed, "but I'd have taken something more neutral out in the desert. Made us easy targets, and unfortunately the Republicans weren't dumb enough to believe a forest of underbrush had sprouted up overnight. I wasn't stationed down there permanently, but you'd think the troops that were would've been given uniforms that blended in a little better."

_Yes, that would've been smart, wouldn't it? Green's all well and good when you're surrounded by forests, but what idiots don't realize it isn't suitable for other places?_ Lehrgen had bemoaned to himself. _Well, no use crying over it now._ _It's in the past. Only thing to do is fix the problem as soon as possible._

"While you're at it," Tanya said, humoring him with a wry smile before hammering the point home even further, "as a mage, I feel compelled to suggest that it would be nice to be a little more mistakable for a piece of sky or a passing cloud, instead of a mysteriously levitating cucumber. Once the ban is lifted, maybe the flight jumpsuits could also be redyed...?"

"Yes, yes, those too. And I won't forget white for snow, if we ever go deep into the eastern front again," he told her, exasperation at himself leaking into his voice for having to be reminded that the desert wasn't the only place where green uniforms weren't the most appropriate color.

"Sorry," she winced, "I didn't mean to sound condescending."

"I know," he placated. "I know."

"Good," she breathed, with a self-effacing laugh at her own anxiety.

"What are you so worried about?" he asked, curious why she thought, of all things, this was the interaction that would wreak havoc on his opinion of her.

"I wouldn't want to have ruined my prospect at another chance to establish important relationships for my future," she said, glancing slyly up from under her eyelashes. "My background doesn't make it easy to be accepted into that world."

Lehrgen suppressed the desire to snort. _Like I'm going to pay for her to spend a week's worth of her salary on dinner again. _One thing that most certainly hadn't changed about Tanya over the past few years was that she was unhesitant in using, or, depending on where you drew the line, abusing, anyone or anything in her life who could present an advantage to her.

"You haven't ruined anything," he told her truthfully. The chance of him letting her tag along with him again was near zero, but she hadn't made it any worse by making him ashamed of himself.

While some part of her desire for another night out was likely just the thrill of getting free food and wine at his expense, after seeing the way she'd behaved over Christmas dinner, combined with her recent confirmation she was looking out for her future, his guess that this was all a ploy to bolster her career was almost certainly correct.

She'd made sure to leave a favorable impression on everyone she met, and the richer or more well-connected, the more effort she'd expended. She only had a year and a half until she was eligible to re-enlist and eventually wear one of the new, pale blue flight suits she'd just invented. As much as the Army liked to claim it was a meritocracy, that was only true to an extent.

Among the lower ranks, it was mostly a valid claim. But Tanya would be reinstated as a lieutenant colonel, which wasn't exactly a low rank. As you moved up the chain of command, promotions inevitably grew scarcer, and thus more competitive. Without constant success in battle propelling her forward, Tanya's ability to distinguish herself in relation to her peers would be diminished, and she was at a natural disadvantage when it came to familial or other personal connections, which undoubtedly counted for something as the rank got higher.

Lehrgen was not unaware of the effect his background had on his own career. No one could say he didn't deserve his promotions, but he'd been handed them at the expense of colleagues who were just as deserving, who in most cases had waited longer for it.

Tanya was smart. Not just on an academic level, she was canny about how the system she had to play within worked. She'd always been able to use obscure regulations to her advantage. It would insult her intelligence to suggest that she wasn't aware that she needed to start playing politics if she wanted to continue her upward journey through the Imperial hierarchy.

Years past, she wouldn't have needed to ingratiate herself with anyone aside from her superior officers, the Army being the only profession that mattered. Those years were long gone, though. The industrialists who invented and manufactured, the rail and shipping magnates who controlled the flow of goods, the bankers who financed it all, knowing how to appeal to them was just as important as cultivating the good opinions of her direct superiors, perhaps doubly or even triply so because she was female.

Typically, being promoted too much further would all but eliminate her chances of leading a battalion herself; in Tanya's case, however, that was extraordinarily unlikely. She was far too useful in battle, a fact which she was undoubtedly aware of. Until someone else managed to use the Type 95 successfully, she was guaranteed the top spot as the Empire's most valuable mage, her competitors trailing her at a good distance. As she rose through the ranks, it would just give her the ability to pick her own battles, and turn them as bloody as she wanted to. She might not seem bloodthirsty now, but who was to say that wouldn't change as soon as she caught the scent of fear? He was determined not to let the efforts he'd put in over the past month at being more companionable go to waste.

In a way, allowing her to continue to deepen her social network wouldn't be a bad thing. She was well-versed in subjects ranging from economics to legal affairs to transportation. If he kept bringing her around, _somebody _was bound to offer her a job eventually, especially now that Hammerstein had put the word out. But until he was desperate, he wasn't going to let her catch him unawares again and earn a second trip to pollute one of his few refuges from military life. Especially not when he knew he'd never hear the end of it from his brother.

Otto had, thankfully, never had occasion to meet Tanya. He wouldn't understand. _Couldn't _understand, in fact. Much of the Army thought her half-legend, even, the feats and vices of several mages conflated into one mythological chimera. Nobody could be expected to comprehend a tenth of how sinister it felt to watch a dissonantly calm child prepare to murder someone in cold blood without being there in person.

From Otto's perspective, it was clear why he found it humorous that an esteemed officer would take a primary schooler's threats seriously. It didn't make the frequent jibes any easier to swallow. His unwise decision to confess his fears about Tanya to his family after she'd won the Silver Wings had handed his brother endless ammunition with which to harp on him about, the same way all siblings liked to playfully pick on each other's flaws.

Erich knew he brought it on himself, in a way. He could simply refuse to speak about her. But back then, he'd needed _some _safe outlet to complain to. His superior officers would only tolerate so much. Despite the occasional irreverent comment, Otto typically did his best to ignore her age and commiserate with him over the difficulties Tanya presented. Still, he wouldn't soon forget that time his brother had patted him on the head and asked if he wanted Mommy to save him from the scary she-monster that lived under his bed.

The mockery had let up after the Republic publicly accused Tanya of war crimes. That had proven there was more than a grain of truth to the stories he'd told. Now, when he brought her up, more often than not it was for no reason other than that she was a fascinating person to be around. Not an easy one, and not always in a good way, but fascinating all the same. Evidently, his brother hadn't given up, but had been waiting for Erich to present him with new fodder to use. Other considerations on volunteering his time towards Tanya's career aside, he didn't want Otto to think he'd been right all along. Treating a social engagement with her like it was a blessing instead of a burden was tantamount to admitting he'd gotten worked up all those years over nothing.

Well, there was nothing to be done about the fact that Bruno had called his brother straightaway. Those two never missed an opportunity to gossip with each other.

With a heavy sigh, Lehrgen picked up the phone to get someone on the line who knew a thing or two about designing uniforms. They might not have colonies on the Southern Continent anymore, but it never hurt to be prepared. If Magna Rumeli crumbled the wrong way, a desert-appropriate outfit might be needed sooner rather than later.

**January 31, 1930**

**General Staff Office, Imperial Capital Berun**

Three weeks was all it took for the first samples to be delivered to the office. A purchase order from the Army could put any textile business into the land of bountiful profits for the year, so every company contacted had prioritized the request and shown off no less than their best handiwork.

Lehrgen had received the call a few minutes ago, and now stood in one of the building's many unused rooms, which had been converted into a temporary clothing boutique catering to an oddly specific sort of client. He had no real opinion on the various shades of tans and grays, aside from being glad he was unlikely to ever wear one of them.

He wasn't a vain man, but he'd learned during his summers in the Commonwealth that the palette didn't do him any favors. Every garden party had required a light-colored suit, so he hadn't lacked for variety, and still, he'd never found a shade that didn't make his skin look unhealthily sallow. Combined with the faded brown of his hair, at the time cropped more closely after having just come out of field service, it had made him altogether forgettable, a drab and dreary background character.

His girlfriend at the time had done an admirable job of pretending he cut a more striking figure. The same could not be said of her elder sister or grandmother, who had both been possessed of the sharp tongues the Albionian aristocracy was known for. Apparently, neither of them had anything better to do than come up with snide remarks to drop into otherwise pleasant conversations. Now that was a pair he wouldn't mind introducing Tanya to. Her complete indifference to the various titles and rituals of the nobility would be a deadly weapon against people who didn't care about anything but.

Speaking of Tanya, she would have a better eye for the exact color of the garments he was currently assessing. Lehrgen couldn't tell the difference between half of them, and for those that he could, he had no idea which would be preferable in a desert or up in the air. With that thought, he turned around and went to fetch her away from whatever she was working on.

Her door was open, and he caught the tail end of a conversation. An unhappy sigh, then a few dejected remarks to whoever she was speaking with, "yes, yes, I understand, no, it's alright."

Whether it was really alright or not was debatable. After she hung up the phone, Lehrgen picked up the unmistakable sound of a boot colliding with wood. Kicking your desk out of frustration or anger didn't generally portend that a satisfactory arrangement had been reached.

"Degurechaff," he called, knocking on the door frame a second before he entered in case she needed time to compose herself, "is there a problem?"

"Weiss's wife had her damn baby," she muttered, arms crossed tightly over her chest.

"I...see," he remarked, unsure of the response she was looking for out of him. It was hard to be sympathetic when he did not in fact see. At all. There was little reason for her to be upset over the news.

"He was supposed to help me move this weekend. Somehow, he forgot the date conflicted with the birth of his first child," she clarified, tone heavy with sarcasm.

"How terribly selfish of him to inconvenience you like that," Lehrgen interjected, equally acerbically.

"I could use a second person for some of the furniture," she pouted bitterly, resting her chin on one of her hands. "And I can't exactly ask Visha."

"There's others who could help besides them," he reasoned. People who weren't named Erich von Lehrgen, which is what she seemed to be hinting at. He'd have to think up an excuse in case she asked him straight out.

"I'm not letting some random vagrant I find on the street touch my things," she grumbled darkly. "And all the respectable companies will take at least a week to arrange."

"Are you required to be out of your current apartment by tomorrow?" he asked curiously. It wasn't like her to schedule something with no tolerance for error.

"No, but if I have to live next to my neighbors another day I might shoot one of them," she said with a laugh. "I'm barely holding on to my sanity as it is."

It was hard to tell if that was a joke or not. He _wanted _it to be a joke, but with Tanya, it was impossible to tell. Death was not an empty threat coming from her. And assuming that it was mostly said in jest, it still meant she was fantasizing about committing violent acts as a means of problem-solving. There was no trait he'd like to discourage more than her pitiless attitude towards the life and limb of anyone who stood in her way. In fact, he had a vested personal interest in that matter.

_I have to offer, _he told himself glumly. _She lives in an apartment, so she can't have much furniture anyway, _he reminded himself. _It'll just be one or two things._

"Well, before you do that, you could always ask me to help," he mumbled out unhappily. "So long as you don't need someone with magically-enhanced strength."

"Ah, no, of course. I just didn't want to impose too much," she replied, scratching at the back of her head but smiling happily. "I thought it might be too soon. Is Sunday alright?"

"I can be over by ten," he confirmed, before he realized his error. "Unless you'll be in church then, that is. I wouldn't want to interfere with something so important to you."

It was impossible to miss the look that flashed across her eyes, and equally impossible to put a name to the expression. A dark, almost manic gleam that nearly made him take a step back out of intimidation at the intensity.

"I've been told you're quite pious, is that incorrect?" he asked, after a second spent convincing himself he was seeing things.

"...it's complicated."

Lehrgen didn't see what could possibly be complicated about the faith of someone who had gone to chapel several times a week during War College and who was known for praying audibly and at length on the battlefield, but it was far from the first unnecessarily complicated personality trait of Tanya's.

"So, if ten is alright-"

"Yes."

"-then the real reason I came up here is that we got the samples for alternative uniforms in this morning. You free to take a look?"

For someone who wore almost nothing besides white shirts and black pants, Tanya had a critical eye for color and texture when she needed to. Her first order of business was to eliminate three-quarters of the flight jumpsuits under consideration for any future aerial mages.

She was methodical in her approach, not simply looking at each individual item, but re-organizing them and grouping them into rough categories of white, gray, and blue. Lehrgen nearly left to get back to his desk in the interim, since the only talking she was doing was to herself, but watching the process was like getting a live display of how her mind approached unfamiliar practical questions.

After she was finished with her color-coding, she stood back and stared at the gray section for a few minutes before reaching for one that was roughly the hue of a white shirt that had been mixed in with other colors in the laundry so many times that it was now an indistinct, dingy gray that would never look clean no matter how thoroughly it was washed. With no comment, she bent down to untie and remove her boots, then slipped it on over her clothes.

A few calisthenic exercises later and she removed it, laying it on a table to her side. She walked back over to the rack and ran her fingers down the sleeve of each suit, then turned around to address him.

"Would you get me a cup of water?"

A brigadier general had better things to do than run errands at the beck and call of a girl who was perfectly capable of going down the hall herself if she was feeling thirsty. Really. Much better. Erich von Lehrgen had more important things to accomplish than what he was currently doing, which was exactly as she'd asked. Tanya needed so little assistance from anyone else that she reduced everyone around her, no matter their rank, to varying degrees of superfluousness such that the most helpful thing he could do was not interrupt her by making it a point of pride to not take orders from her.

By the time he was back in the room, she'd pulled a handful of different jumpsuits off the rack they were hanging on. She took the water he offered her, and instead of drinking it, she shook it over the unsuspecting clothing.

"I never could figure out why they didn't make our jumpsuits water-repellent," she commented, while they both watched drops bead on the garments. "The technology for it has existed for years."

Without waiting for him to respond, she picked up the one that had absorbed the least water, then the very first one she'd pulled off.

"This material," she told him, holding up the jumpsuit in her left hand and then giving it to him, "but this color," she continued, shaking the one in her right hand in that offensive shade of light gray. "In northern Europa the sky is gray more often than not, it's a better choice than blue."

With that, she turned to the uniforms intended for the desert. She removed about a third of them for being too richly colored, either overly yellow or overly brown, but then stepped back with a shrug.

"Honestly, someone who was stationed with General von Romel will know better than I."

"And if you had to choose?"

She frowned and turned back, eyes scanning the rack. "This one," she indicated, pulling on one of the sleeves.

"Very good," Lehrgen nodded. "I'll clear the new jumpsuits with the right people. At this point, I think everyone will take your word for it when it comes to what's best where mages are concerned."

"...we wouldn't happen to be planning on needing them anytime soon?" she asked.

Lehrgen had heard that Zettour had devised some sort of plan for allowing the Imperial Army to once again add aerial mages to its officially-sanctioned soldiers, but the last thing he needed was Tanya getting her hopes up about that. She was already looking antsy, her left hand coming up and stretching over her chest, like her heart had begun beating with excitement at the thought.

"Never hurts to be prepared," he said, with a shake of his head. "I'll see you Sunday."

—

Tanya rubbed her hand over her heart a few more times for good measure while she waited for the anxious pounding to slow. The speed with which her suggestion had been turned into reality was...gratifying, to be sure. Or would have been, if aerial mages currently existed in the Imperial Army. Seeing as they didn't, the haste was downright worrisome. From the beginning, her passing remark on the subject of camouflage had caused her nothing but trouble.

_Apparently, my New Year's resolution needs to be to relearn how to think before I speak, _she thought, making her way back to her own office.

A successful project didn't _usually _kick off with making your boss feel like an idiot. After all her time in the workforce, she was confident in that much. Hearing Lehrgen say how humiliated she'd made him feel back when it first came up had about made the pit of her stomach drop out. Showing up your superior only induced unhelpful feelings of jealousy.

To top it off, trying to use humor to lighten the mood afterwards by making that joke about the color of their flight suits had been absolutely the wrong approach, like she was poking fun at everyone who'd never wondered why they didn't camouflage their mages better, her own boss included. From the get-go, she should have been more delicate in how she approached the subject.

Acting like you were better than your boss aside, one thing Tanya had learned over the years was that people were willing to gloss over a surprising number of mistakes or words said in the heat of the moment without making much of an issue over it. But, short of being given a heartfelt apology, the one thing they rarely forgave was being made to feel badly about themselves. Nothing put people on the defensive faster. Her HR training had emphasized that few things were more important than giving a dispassionate account of facts and figures and not letting any sort of personal judgment leak into the conversation. Not that that had helped in the end.

_Thank...someone...that Lehrgen isn't that petty, _Tanya sighed. An astonishing number of people were willing to throw out a good idea because they were embarrassed it wasn't theirs. It would be tragic if she were never invited back to his social club. Being Christmas, many members had been home with family instead, so there were likely even better acquaintances to make next time. Obviously, as his potential future subordinate officer, the better she looked, the better he looked. He was more than smart enough to see the benefit for his legacy. Mentors loved nothing more than seeing their charges succeed, then getting to sit back and reap the praise.

Of course, asking for too many favors in a row was never a good look. She'd been planning on waiting a few months before asking for anything major. Like help moving. That plan had worked out great. Great at insulting him yet again, that was, by ranking him below someone who couldn't currently walk unaided in terms of his expected usefulness. His expression when he'd offered to help had been unmistakably sour, and including that part about magically-enhanced strength just reeked of wounded male pride.

Thirty hours later, Tanya was _slightly _regretting her decision to rely on free labor instead of paying for a moving crew. Only slightly. Intense physical exercise was important for a healthy lifestyle, after all. Her sore back was just a sign she wasn't getting too indulgent during the era of the wondrous thing humans called peacetime.

She looked around with satisfaction at the apartment now devoid of everything besides her largest pieces of furniture, her toothbrush, and a single outfit. The rest she'd already moved two floors down. There would have been no problem asking for Weiss's help with boxes. She hadn't mentioned that part of it to Lehrgen. Somehow, she didn't think he'd appreciate what had sounded like an hour's work turning into half a day spent running up and down the hall.

Going to bed that night, she didn't even pound at the wall when the...vigorous sounds of life began emanating from the room next to her. It would almost have been disappointing if this was her only evening of peace.

**February 2, 1930**

**Moabitte, Imperial Capital Berun**

Precisely at ten in the morning, Erich von Lehrgen pressed the buzzer for Apartment 601. It was a newer building, though not what he'd call a nice one. Utilitarian, maybe, was the kindest way to describe it, which fit very well with the personality of its one occupant known to him.

On a Sunday morning, Tanya's street wasn't so bad. Any rougher elements were either asleep or on their best behavior while their children and grandmothers walked to and from a church or family gathering. Some trash littering the streets and the numerous political posters plastered on top of each other along any available surface were the only signs of disharmony.

He didn't have long to stand and contemplate before the door opened, Tanya leaning against it. The interior of her building was even less attractive than the exterior. Like the architect had never had experience designing something other than a fortress. All metal and concrete, it looked more like it was built to withstand a siege than keep out a few rowdy political protestors and drug addicts. It was like she'd decided to permanently live in a trench dug-out. He wasn't sure why he'd expected differently out of her.

The good news was, there was an elevator, so they wouldn't need to make the trek up five flights of stairs. The bad news was, it was far too small to hold a piece of furniture, so they'd be struggling down the steps in a few minutes anyway.

To his relief, her apartment was empty of anything with too much of a personal touch. He was interested in learning more about her, but you could very easily learn more than you bargained for about someone by how they kept house.

"Did you buy this from the last tenant?" he asked, knocking lightly on the well-worn wood of her table.

"Everything but my mattress," she confirmed. "I used to care more about buying things new, but, well, the war was good for learning to appreciate anything sturdy and serviceable."

"Did you have many new things at the orphanage?" he asked curiously.

Her adoptive home hadn't been _destitute, _exactly, but it would be an extravagant nunnery indeed that accustomed its charges to receiving goods that were purchased new. These were people who had supposedly taken vows of poverty, after all.

"No," she replied sharply, and he wondered if referencing her ignominious origins had offended her slightly, "so that's why I appreciated them so much."

"Right, well, shall we start with this, then?"

The table wasn't terribly heavy, just, as Tanya had noted, impossible for a single person to carry. Apartment 402 was somewhat larger. It was still a single room and bathroom, but at least here there was an L-shaped cut-out that provided some level of distinction between sleeping and living quarters.

The next thing he noticed after the increased size of the apartment was the absolutely hideous wallpaper.

"Who picked _that_ travesty?" he blurted out, eyes unable to break away from the hypnotic chaos.

"I know," Tanya sighed, wincing and glancing away.

_Wait, _he cursed, _she might have selected it herself. _It was very possible she'd asked the landlord permission to make a few changes before moving in. Likely, even. Perhaps this was why she didn't trust herself to wear anything besides repetitive outfits that were uniforms in everything but name.

"It's very...avant-garde?" he tried, scouring the room for another decorative item he could compliment.

Problem was, everything was currently packed up in the neatly stacked boxes lining the wall. There wasn't much he could say about those. _I love the boxes, very tasteful _didn't work with crates clearly taken from the local grocer.

"I'll get around to replacing it eventually," she said, with a wave of her hand that allowed him to breathe a sigh of relief. "I just couldn't wait to get out of the old place."

"Your neighbors were _that _bad?"

"At least wallpaper doesn't make noise."

He begged to differ. The room was a bit dark, and still, it was screaming at his eyes. But, he wasn't the one who had to live with it, so he shrugged and motioned towards the door.

One bedframe, one mattress, two dressers, and miraculously, only three bruised fingers - two of his and one of hers - later, she was situated on the new floor.

"I'd offer to make something for lunch, but everything's packed up," she said, motioning at the boxes. "Plus, I'm not sure if that would count more as a reward or a punishment."

"I'll find something," he reassured her, eager to move along with his weekend. "I'm sure there's plenty in the neighborhood."

"There's a place down the street that's good. Or at least, I think it is. It's very popular. Every time I've gone in they look at me funny so it's a bit weird to go on my own, but with two of us we could ignore it."

_How about no_, was his first reaction. A situation that intimidated Tanya? What the hell was going on in there? A formal tea party? It made him so curious he actually had to see for himself.

It was still early for lunch, so it wasn't crowded in the café Tanya led him to. The crowd that was there _did _look at Tanya strangely, it was true. Looked at both of them strangely, actually, though in very, _very _different ways.

_Well, thanks for the compliment, gentlemen, _Lehrgen thought, putting his hand on Tanya's shoulder and turning her around to leave. If this was the one piece of her mind that wasn't corrupted, he was going to leave it innocent. And he didn't need to get in an argument with her anyway, complicated or not, she was still devoutly faithful, so she might have raised a fuss upon learning what was going on under her nose.

It hadn't been immediately obvious, so he could see how Tanya had missed it, but Lehrgen didn't quite get the sense that these were businessmen meeting over a meal. Given that there had been no obstacles to strangers wandering in, the police obviously already knew about the establishment and had decided they had more dangerous offenders to arrest than a few men with eyes for their own gender getting together in private. People who wasted their time worrying about the decaying sense of public morality were practically inconsolable that Berun was becoming known worldwide for its lax attitude towards enforcing that particular part of the criminal code.

Tanya drew in a breath as soon as they were out. "Why did-"

"I think they may have had their own social club in there," he told her. "One that we aren't a part of. Maybe a political party."

"Oh," she said, unexpectedly dejected. "Sorry."

"It's fine," he answered with a smile, spotting a small restaurant down the street and heading towards it.

He had planned on making her pay. He'd done her a favor. But, he'd consider the good laugh he was going to have when he got home payment enough.

* * *

_B/N: :P_

_A/N: ;) On a practical note, while I usually go off LN canon [so our German male lead has brown hair instead of blue...shocking, I know], the anime flight-suit design makes more sense IMO, so I'm going with the anime uniforms [minus the weird boot thing for mages]._

_Happy New Year everyone! Do I need any resolutions for my story? Is there something I'm doing really badly I need to fix? There probably is. Don't sexually harass my followers with chapter titles again you say? Look, I just wanted to be your first solicitation of the New Year, okay? After 150k words of backstory to make the decision-making more believable when things come to a head, I finally got back on my original crack plot. This is an exciting time for me, I have a lot of chaotic energy. Thank you all for being here on this unexpectedly long journey._

_For trivia purposes, I will tell you that Lehrgen's ex-girlfriend is a real character in another series that takes place in the same era as YS. Honestly they are perfect for each other. PERFECT. He shoulda married her. If there's any British TV drama fans reading, please take a guess. She's also that character that nothing ever goes right for and always gets overruled and overshadowed by the bossy main character. _

_Berlin/Weimar culture is lightly relevant to this story so just giving my take - the Empire was not as devastated as Germany post-war, so it will probably never reach like, peak Weimar decadence, but it largely follows the same trends. One thing to remember is that the "Golden Years" that the era is remembered for are more like late 20s/early 30s, so 5+ years post-war. We are only at ~1.75 years at the moment, social norms/clothes liberalizing a ton is still getting started. On the subject of gay culture, male homosexuality was illegal; female was not, the police didn't really enforce that law so much and the subculture seriously flourished. Obviously LGBT people still had tons of struggles with acceptance, they had zero legal protections from discrimination and many of the conservative elements of society were unhappy about it, but living "out of the closet" was definitely possible, though perhaps only advisable if you were an artist/writer/intellectual, I imagine it could be a troublesome piece of personal history for politicians, military guys, etc [although there's Rohm, so hey]. My impression was that usually it was at least tolerated so long as it was confined to your private life and/or appropriate venues. So Lehrgen isn't like, completely ahistorically tolerant of gay people. So you should probably send him those nudes he asked for. I can guarantee you he'll be impressed...by the quality of your phone camera._


	33. My name is: No

.

**February 14, 1930**

**General Staff Office, Imperial Capital Berun**

When you thought about it, there were a surprising number of benefits to working for the Imperial Army, one of which was the ability to keep a hand on the pulse of international affairs. Everyone in the General Staff Office should want nothing more than politics to continue via its usual means instead of falling back to armed intervention. Without threat of war, they were being paid to kick up their heels and make themselves look busy. A ticket to an easy life if there ever was one.

When rumor around the office had it that a certain former general was in Londinium alongside some of the Empire's top diplomats, you could bet it wasn't to have high tea. That was the sort of news that warranted further investigation. Tanya knew better than anyone that peace was the most desirable state for an army, but not everyone saw eye-to-eye with her on that. Unbelievably, there were hundreds of thousands of people out there who wanted to fight and die without being legally required to do so. She couldn't really pretend to understand that type of mindset, but there was no disputing that it existed. There were days when she wondered whether Being X wasn't right when he claimed to have created them all. Not that she meant that as a compliment.

When she caught Zettour's name said in whispers between two of the typists as she was dropping off a few items of work, she couldn't resist. If he was involved, it could only mean one thing - this had to do with the treaty that had ended the war.

"Klara, do you know what they're talking about?" she asked, turning to the woman next to her.

"Oh? Haven't you heard?"

_Obviously, I haven't heard, or else I wouldn't be asking the question, _Tanya thought with exasperation, shaking her head.

"I could tell you if you like, but…"

"Yes?"

"You remember how you promised me you'd come out with us girls next time I invited you?"

Crap. I did say that. I wish I could deny it, but I can't get a reputation for breaking my word. No one will trust you with anything important if you can't even keep simple personal promises. I shouldn't have agreed to that so hastily when I had her help me buy a dress for Weiss's wedding; now that the favor's being called in, backing out last minute will look suspicious.

"Yes," Tanya grudgingly agreed.

"Good," Klara smiled, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. "Then I can tell you. Gertrud, that girl over there in the corner, she heard we're trying to get the ban on aerial mages lifted. Exciting, right?"

Well, it will definitely make my life more exciting. That's a fact. If you need a thrill, go ride a roller coaster. Don't volunteer your fellow man for dangerous activities. Some of us like having boring lives. I knew there had to be a reason we were rushing the development of those flight jumpsuits.

"Why would the other powers agree to that?"

Yeah, that's the main issue at stake. I don't expect Klara to give an insightful piece of political commentary, but maybe she's overhead something. From the perspective of other countries, there's no reason they should agree to our demands. It has the potential to make their lives overly exciting too.

"Well, since we're having trouble controlling our own population, what with the rebel group getting their hands on orbs…it's a bit conniving to use it to our advantage, but..."

That's going beyond just conniving! That's a blatant deception meant to play all our enemies off against each other. Zettour took it a bit far when I suggested we use the situation in Oberschlesia for political gain. What a trickster. I already proved there was no international duplicity involved here. I should have realized the issue with commercial-grade orbs was being kept quiet for more reasons than not causing a public panic.

Really, the ruse serves the Commonwealth right after their duplicity during the war. Pretending they were the defenders of peace in Europa, but they didn't lift a finger until it looked like they had to. They're only looking out for themselves. From their view, what's the bigger threat? Giving the Empire a few aerial mage units back? Or letting the Empire's eastern borderlands get absorbed into the already-oversized Federation's sphere of influence? It's obvious it's the latter.

The Federation also has to consider this. They might know that they didn't do anything illegal, but they can't prove it. If they stand their ground on not repealing any part of the treaty, all of a sudden, it makes them look like the aggressor. They're in the same boat as the Commonwealth. A partial lifting of the ban on aerial mage units isn't enough for the Empire to threaten an invasion, but denying it might make all of Europa band together against the perceived expansion of communism.

Ildoa and Dacia are friendly with us, and as for the other minor powers, the Entente has a bad history with the Rus territories. They don't want to set an international precedent of appeasement when the Federation messes in their neighbor's business. The Republic might complain some, but they won't stand alone against everyone else.

Ahh, well, this isn't a case where being a whistleblower is going to win me any friends. All that gets you is locked up in an embassy. At that point, it's no different than a comfortable form of life imprisonment.

The truth is, for stability's sake, the Empire needs to be able to field some more military strength than our current roster allows us. Supposedly, the Republic and the Federation were planning to disarm as well, but that hasn't happened. Beggars can't be choosers. So long as universal conscription remains outlawed, those of us who don't have any violent tendencies shouldn't have anything to worry about.

"Oh, Tanya?" Klara asked, as she was turning to head out the door. "We'll all be at Bar Windhorst tonight. It's only supposed to be the girls but the boys always find us one way or another. I'm sure General von Lehrgen will understand that today is an important day for all single young women, so don't you show up two hours after all the rest of us."

Never mind. I have much worse things to worry about than geopolitical deceit. A group date on Valentine's Day is ten times more treacherous. I already agreed to go, so I'll have to rely on another excuse to get me out of it. So long as Lehrgen understands that it's in fact important that I _don't _attend tonight, he can do the job of covering for me. It's the same strategy as asking your mom to tell your friend you have chores when you really just don't feel like hanging out with them.

"General," she said, as soon as she walked through his door, "I need your help."

"Yes, what is it?"

"I promised Klara I'd go out with the girls the next time she invited me," she explained, rubbing her hand over her face in exasperation. "I'm going to tell them that you don't want me to go because I have work to finish, but I'm sure one of them will ring you and ask if you can let me out early this once, so if you could please…?"

"You should go."

No, that can't be right. What's with this sense of timing? He's honestly choosing the worst possible day to let me off early.

"You want me to go?"

"It will be good to get to know the other women better."

I see. Mature professionals like the two of us barely even register things like Valentine's Day. He's not thinking about this as anything other than a way for me to form friendships. He must feel guilty that there aren't many opportunities for me to socialize with other young women.

"You do realize what today is?"

"Yes, yes, of course I do, but you can stay safely in the middle of the group if that part of it concerns you so much."

"I wouldn't want people to get the impression that I'm an…eligible candidate."

There's no use dancing around it. Lehrgen might think it's a little weird, but in the long run, it's easier if he understands I'm not interested in romance. This way, I won't have to worry about him or the other officers thinking I want to be introduced to their nephews or something. General von Rudersdorf let something slip about having a grandson close to my age once, and I could never rest easy around him after that.

"Degurechaff, as someone who's been before, you're blowing this a bit out of proportion. For the most part, the men and women keep to themselves. Trust me. You'll be fine."

I guess I'm not the only one who's been dragged out against my will. If he's going to be so insistent, he leaves me no choice. I'll have to take the nuclear option - binding our fate in this misadventure together. If he says it's not so bad, he should have no problem going himself, right? And if he refuses, then he can't preach to me about how I'll have fun, so he'll have to concede and lie to Klara for me. Plus, in the unlikely event that he agrees to come along, there's no chance of misbehavior from anyone else. In corporate terms, it's like the department president showing up unannounced at the bar all the junior employees are carousing in. It will instantly shut everything down to a respectable level.

"Oh, well if you were going, then I suppose none of them would bother me," she said, rubbing her chin thoughtfully before looking up at him expectantly.

—

Some people brought nothing but trouble. Like Tanya Degurechaff when she walked in your office unannounced and slammed the door shut behind her, face deathly serious. Lehrgen had to calm himself down before he replied to her initial request for help. Anything that had her running scared wasn't something to be taken lightly.

Except, apparently, Valentine's Day.

Lehrgen would have to be more careful around Klara in the future. If she could extract such a promise out of Tanya, her powers of persuasion were something to be wary of. Tanya's female friendships were sorely lacking, though, so for now he'd be appreciative that the woman had worked this miracle on her. Klara would be receiving an anonymous box of chocolates in the near future. He absolutely wasn't going to lie for her and make it seem like she had to stay at work.

He always hoped that one day, Tanya would simply run out of ways to surprise him. There had to be a limit eventually. But today was not that day.

The girls in the office who were single and alone for this stupid holiday, a group which his subordinate technically happened to be a member of, always got together at a bar after work to commiserate over their lack of partnership. Lehrgen was aware of this. Had been for many years.

The reason he knew about it was that he happened to belong to the corresponding group of single men, which there were admittedly more of around the office. It was an annual game, the day or two before, for the men to figure out where the ladies were going and interrupt the festivities. Lehrgen had always tried to escape being dragged along by virtue of the fact that there were an overabundance of willing participants, so his absence was easily forgettable.

As he grew older, the game grew even less appealing than it had been, and by now he was dead set on avoiding the entire situation. He'd spent the day dodging every person he thought likely to mention it to him and ask if he was coming along. Since today was a Friday, his usual excuse of needing to be on top of work the next day wouldn't ring true.

The thought that he'd have to avoid Tanya had never entered his mind. First off, she was probably unaware of the whole thing. Second, if she was aware of it, she'd think it inane. Thirdly, if she was invited, she would certainly not want to join. He hadn't counted on someone _making _her join, or on her trying to drag him into it as a means of saving herself.

_None of them will bother you because you're wearing pants and give off a vibe that anyone that touches you will lose the offending hand_ would be the most honest response he could give to her latest statement. That wasn't the type of thing you could say out loud, so he'd have to think up another way to allay her unreasonable fear of mixed-gender socialization.

_Umm…I never volunteered to be your chaperone, and the world's moved on from the era where you took them along on dates anyway _was equally rude. He'd have to think of something else.

_Wait. This isn't such a bad idea, _he thought, a second later, a novel thought striking him. Truthfully, he was a very low person for considering this. He shouldn't do this to someone. It was horrible. Awful. But as the saying went, all's fair in love and war. And this might shape up to have something to do with both.

When the time came, he'd make a wedding present out of all the books on philosophy he knew of that covered sacrificing oneself for the greater good. No, he'd give his whole house away, library included. He didn't need such a big place all to himself.

It's common knowledge that people are willing to make major changes when they have someone special they want to impress. Theoretically, if Tanya were to find someone that she was interested in, she might decide that indulging her worst vices was less important than maintaining a good relationship with this special someone. Falling in love could give Tanya a reason to change into the best version of herself, perhaps permanently.

Lehrgen felt deeply sorry for whatever man she chose. He wouldn't stand a chance. This was a woman who'd never failed to achieve a strategic objective. Sneak attacks on vulnerable points were her specialty. But no matter how hard it got, this saintly individual could go to sleep every night knowing that the world owed him an incalculable debt.

In conclusion, if Lehrgen had to sit on a barstool and pretend to glare at any boys that looked Tanya's way while secretly giving them a thumbs up, he would do his part.

"Yes, of course. I can go along as well. I wouldn't want to leave you alone out there," he smiled. "Now, back to work so we can leave on time."

He picked up his phone as soon as she was out of earshot.

"Sauer, do you have plans tonight?" he asked, once his adjutant picked up.

"Ah, not with anyone in particular, sir."

"Good. I'm assuming one of the men around the office told you where tonight's party is?"

"No, sir. They never do. A few of the women did, though."

"Right, well, so long as you're available to drive there-"

"...you're going, sir?"

"It's a long story," he sighed. "But yes. Degurechaff's going to ride with us as well. My presence there's already going to ruin whatever fun was going to be had, so you don't need to feel guilty about tagging along."

"I'll have the car ready at five."

"Before you go, I have a strange question for you."

When it came to interoffice dalliances, Ernst was a reliable source. Mostly because he was one of the central nodes of that web. If he could avoid it, Lehrgen would rather not give his real motive for the question he had on his mind. A general in the Army telling his adjutant that he was counting on the power of love to save them sounded like a very fast way to ensure Ernst never respected him ever again. He'd just have to let him think it was mean-spirited gossip over Tanya's personal life driving the conversation instead. The two of them had done enough of it in the past.

"Yes, sir?"

"A day like today makes you wonder...do you think someone would have to be completely out of their mind to date Degurechaff, or only partially?"

His adjutant cleared his throat awkwardly. Ernst was an exceedingly cordial young man, so he hated to talk badly about anyone directly. Lehrgen felt guilty putting him on the spot like this, especially since he knew the young man was absolutely petrified of Tanya.

"Well, there is something about girls with a wild side," he said slowly. "But, ahh, sir, if you want my opinion, I wouldn't...ahh…"

"I know you wouldn't," Lehrgen said, rolling his eyes. "But theoretically, how crazy would someone have to be to do it?"

"There's someone out there for everyone, I guess," Ernst replied weakly.

"You wouldn't happen to have heard that any of the younger men are keen on her?" he asked hopefully.

"Not that I know of, sir."

"Mm. Well, thought I'd at least make sure of what we were getting into tonight."

"Of course, sir. Glad I could help."

—

Ernst Sauer hung up his phone, opened the top drawer of his desk, found the key he was looking for, then unlocked the bottom drawer of his desk, where he kept a small bottle of liquor, and took a swig.

He wasn't quite positive what was happening, but there was no way it was good. A man needed a little help to get through the day at times like this.

His boss hadn't said it out loud, but Ernst had been attached to his superior officer since he'd been promoted out of the Personnel Department some six years ago now. For all the time he'd known him, at least some part of his thoughts had always been devoted to how to rid his life of Tanya Degurechaff. Even now that he liked her better and his heart wasn't in it anymore, it was like a bad habit he couldn't break.

There were days Ernst wondered if it was worth risking his friendship with Lehrgen to tell him that if he'd focused all that energy he'd wasted worrying over her onto something actually productive, they might've won the damn war.

It wasn't like Ernst liked her either. He'd only met her after hearing half a million muttered curses about her, but he'd done his level best to be just as amicable to her as he was to anyone else. Nothing worked. The harder he tried, the more she hated him.

He'd thought, just once, that he'd finally gotten through to her. It was the only conversation he ever had with her that wasn't over work. She'd noticed that his pants had been tailored to fit better than the atrociously cut stock sizes. He'd taken the compliment that she'd been appreciating his physique with only a smile, not wanting to interrupt their tentative truce with an ill-timed comment.

Her next question had deflated him down to nothing. She'd been looking for him to recommend a tailor to her to fix her own problem - she had to buy boy's pants. She was thinking of having them altered to cut a cleaner figure.

The truth was, unless you were one of the five or so people that Tanya actually liked, you'd have to take complete leave of your senses to consider dating her. Somehow, it had sounded like his boss was considering setting the two of them up. If Lehrgen had concocted some scheme to marry her off to someone and end her career that way, well, best of luck finding a willing victim. It wouldn't be Ernst Sauer.

He didn't mean to hinder Lehrgen's plans, but it _was _unfair of him to unleash Tanya on an unsuspecting crowd. Ernst would have to try to warn the other men not to make so much as a smile at her unless they wanted a brigadier general to take it as a hint he had a candidate to play matchmaker with. What ever happened to the man who'd once grumbled under his breath that one of the other officers should be sent to an asylum for speculating over whether Tanya would ever settle down and have children?

—

Bar Windhorst enticed a younger crowd than Lehrgen was used to being surrounded by. A veritable haven of cheap beer, greasy food, and dirty floors. But there was space aplenty for sitting, standing, or dancing, and a few games for anyone interested.

Klara immediately renditioned Tanya when they walked in, glancing between Lehrgen and his adjutant looking like she was trying to figure out whether, on balance, the company Tanya had brought with her was a good or bad thing.

The women would certainly appreciate Ernst's presence. They may not even mind Lehrgen's so much. It would keep any of the younger officers in line. For those exact same reasons, the other men in attendance would despise both of them for the next few hours.

Lehrgen could sympathize. Really, he could. When he'd been twenty-three, he would not have wanted his commanding officer's boss's boss sitting next to him in a bar. And he hadn't even been doing anything that might have earned a few demerits if he was unlucky. Around a high-ranking officer, you couldn't be on anything less than your best behavior. Dive bars on Valentine's Day didn't tend to bring out anyone's best behavior. But there were more important things at stake. Let the men hate him for the night if they would, he had a more critical mission to complete.

Regardless, out of pity for everyone else there, as soon as he took his coat off, Lehrgen settled himself into a barstool, ordered the least watered-down beer on tap, and opened a tab that would cover the the first _and _second round for everyone in attendance, with a little bit of food on top of that. He studiously paid no attention to Tanya. No one would approach her under his watchful eye, so he had to make sure he didn't so much as glance in her direction. She was perfectly capable of giving anyone she so desired a verbal or physical thrashing. One thing she did not need on that count was his help.

The beer he was drinking was passable, so he quietly nursed it for a half-hour. He hadn't enjoyed it enough to want a second, but sitting at a bar staring forward neither talking nor drinking would make him look miserable, so he waved at the bartender for another pour.

"Was it any good?" he heard, from near his right shoulder, when he was finishing that second beer and ordering a third.

He turned to face the woman who'd startled him out of his reverie.

"The beer. I was thinking of trying that one, is it any good?"

"Compared to the other ones here, sure," he answered.

"Agh," she groaned, hopping up to take the seat next to him. "I turned thirty at the end of January and I told myself I was done drinking bad beer, and here I am already breaking my promise."

He shot her a sympathetic smile, and they clinked glasses after she got her drink.

"I'm Charlotte," she told him, sticking out her hand for him to shake. "One of your typists."

He opened his mouth to introduce himself in turn, but she got there before him.

"I know who _you _are," she said, rolling her eyes playfully. "Only one in the office who has gold arabesques on your collar without a head full of gray hair."

"I've got five or six of them," he joked. "But only someone taller than me could tell. And no new ones since the war ended. That's the most important part."

"Oh, so you actually check?" she winked. "How vain."

"And you're telling me you don't?"

She gave a short laugh of agreement and reached a hand into her purse. "Cigarette?"

"I'd love one, actually," he replied, taking it from her.

"So. Who convinced you to come out tonight?" she asked, arching a brow.

"I'm here for...moral support, I guess you'd call it."

"Yes, and you're doing such an excellent job at it," she drawled. "I should have guessed."

He shrugged and took a sip of his drink.

"She's a funny little thing, isn't she?" Charlotte asked after a pause, apparently guessing who, exactly, had brought him along.

"That's one way of putting it," he scoffed. "You know, she was more reluctant to come here than she ever was to head out to the front."

"Maybe I'm oversimplifying things," Charlotte began, "but in its own way, a battle's easy. You have your commander shouting at you, you have your orders, you try to kill the other guy, you try not to let the other guy kill you. And when it's over, you've won or you've lost and that's that."

He nodded along, giving another shrug at the vague accuracy of her statement.

"This, though?" she continued. "No single objective, no good metric to call something a win or a loss, you never know exactly what the other person wants or expects. If she's that type, you know-" she held her hands rigidly out in front of her like she was making a box "-likes everything orderly, well, this might all be too fluid, not enough rules. Maybe that gives the poor girl a hard time."

"You know, I think you might be right about that," Lehrgen replied, to the surprisingly incisive analysis. "Though for a second, I could have sworn you were talking about my own troubles with this whole ordeal."

Her leg knocked against his a second later. "I wouldn't say your case is that bad."

_That's where you'd be wrong, _Lehrgen lamented to himself. Some people might have a knack for it, but he didn't. To him, trying to decode whether she'd sat next to him intentionally or just had sore feet and a naturally flirtatious manner was like deciphering hieroglyphics before the Rosetta Stone was found. And if she was being more than friendly, that opened a whole new set of questions. Did she want companionship for the next hour, the rest of the night, or was she expecting more than that?

She was pretty, in a very modern, waif-ish sort of way, so if the answer was either of the first two options, he wouldn't mind taking her up on it. Not beautiful, certainly, but then again, he doubted he made the top of spot of most women's lists, so he wasn't going to hold his standards unreasonably high.

He cleared his throat, unsure of how to continue.

"So, how long have you worked at the office?" he asked, changing the subject to safe common ground. He didn't remember seeing her around, so he presumed she was a newer hire.

"Only a few months," she confirmed. "Did the same job at the Police Department for eight years before that. Finally got tired of hearing the grotesque details of all their cases so I made the switch when a friend told me there was an opening. And some nights, for extra money, you know, I work at one of the city's big clubs."

"What's that like?"

"Not as interesting as it sounds. Just help make sure everyone's having a good time. The Resi, you know it?"

Everyone in the city knew the Resi, or more properly, the Residenz-Casino. Half the country even. It was one of, if not _the_, center of Berun's nightlife.

"I've heard of it, of course, but I can't say I've ever been."

"I'm heading over there later, actually. You really should see it at least once."

"That's probably true," he agreed noncommittally, and she flashed a smile.

"What is it you do, exactly, anyway? I hate to sound stupid, but-"

"No," he interjected. "I'm sure plenty of people wonder the same thing. It's a lot of planning, most of the time. Though now, with what's happening in Oberschlesia, it's become more responding to events as they unfold."

"I understand if you can't say certain things because it's classified, but I did have some questions about that. It seems to me we haven't brought out the full force to deal with the problem, is there a reason we aren't-"

"I can't say much," he emphasized. "But I'll try my best to explain if you'd like."

She nodded, and turned fully to face him. He did the same, and seconds later, he was lost in the details. Charlotte was refreshingly easy to talk to. She had a good head on her shoulders, inquisitive and discerning. He soon found himself explaining parts of his job he'd always assumed would bore most women. Maybe it wasn't altogether such a bad thing that he'd grudgingly followed Tanya along.

"Hey, listen," she said, glancing down at her watch. Lehrgen did the same and noted with surprise that more than an hour had passed. "I've gotta head out soon, tonight's a big night at the cabaret, but I think you've done your job here, so if you wanted to stop by, you know, I'm done at two, so I'll still have the rest of the night free, and-"

The sound of two loud taps on the floor behind them interrupted her invitation, which he probably should decline, because even when he'd been younger modern clubs weren't the sort of places he found appealing, but the way it was sounding, this was more than just an offer to show him around the Resi.

Lehrgen turned to see who had come to pester him at such a critical juncture. He swore if it was his adjutant, he was going to assign him the worst jobs he could think of for the next six months. Half the women in the bar had probably already invited Ernst to spend the night with them, so he had no concept of how rare of a phenomenon it really was.

Thankfully for Ernst, he was free from blame. It was Tanya. Holding two cue sticks.

"I do hope I'm not interrupting something…?" she asked, arching a brow.

_You absolutely are,_ he grumbled unhappily to himself, but how could he say that when the whole reason he was here was supposedly to guard her from her own suitors? Plus, what type of example was this setting for her? If she suddenly got it in her head that it was perfectly acceptable to go home with people you'd just met, imagine all the trouble that could cause. Expecting her to intuitively understand that there was a world of difference between a man in his thirties making that decision and a teenaged girl doing the same would be irresponsible given that he'd be hard pressed to name a single instance when she'd actually acted her age.

"No, no, just...talking about work," he told her, glancing at Charlotte apologetically and hoping she'd understand. The hurt look on her face said that she didn't.

"Good," Tanya said, holding out one of the sticks, "then you're free to play."

"I'm sure any of them would be happy to show you how," Lehrgen said, waving his arm at the group of men around the billiards tables, hoping to get her to leave so he could turn back around, explain himself, and then give more thought to whether it would be such a bad thing to see one of those slightly scandalous new venues, just to say he'd been.

Tanya gave a snort of laughter. "None of them can teach me a damned thing, apparently."

Lehrgen frowned, wondering if they'd refused. "Will they not let you play?"

"I've been playing," she said, cracking a wide smile, "and winning."

He would like to point out to Tanya that being the only female in one entire section of the bar seemed like the exact opposite of how she'd wanted the night to go, but that would have been counterproductive. It was good to see she was participating in the fun instead of brooding silently over a drink.

"The men all say you're their last hope at salvation," she continued. "They told me that you don't get invited to join because it's no fun since you always win."

Lehrgen grinned self-consciously at that. "I do have that reputation," he confirmed.

"Then, Herr von Lehrgen, I do propose we show this sorry lot how the game is really played," she said, handing him the stick she'd offered earlier and turning to walk back over to the tables.

After a brief internal struggle, during which he reminded himself several times that he was a high-ranking officer and high-ranking officers weren't supposed to be led around by typists to questionable clubs, he stood up, gave another look of apology to Charlotte, and followed Tanya. If she was as good as she claimed to be, then at least the night wouldn't be a total loss. He hadn't had a worthy opponent in ages.

He ordered another beer, chalked his cue stick, then agreed to the typical count of 300 for a win, a beer hanging in the balance as the prize.

Tanya insisted that he be the one to break, which was a mistake on her part, so he happily took her up on it. Her overconfidence would be her downfall. Mages always thought they had the advantage. In a sense they were right, but the superb aim their ability gave them made them overly reliant on that skill. Against an amateur player, that was enough to win handily. Put them up against an opponent who knew a thing or two about how to strategize, and suddenly they were helpless.

Lehrgen leaned in to begin the match. He'd take it easy so he didn't embarrass her too badly. He made his way around the table at a leisurely pace, taking a few sips of beer in between each strike, until finally, over fifty points in his pocket, he missed a shot and the table was turned over to Tanya.

Four innings later, he was ready to stomp his feet in frustration.

_I know I say this a lot, but how is she so good at this? _he asked himself, leaning down to line his next shot up and wondering if he was going to lose the title he'd held for years as the best player in the office. He was winning, but barely. And maybe wouldn't be soon, given that he was getting so distracted he'd just missed again.

_I don't understand, _he thought to himself, for the umpteenth time that evening. The only place Tanya could have gotten easy access to a billiards table before she was sixteen was at the officer's club. She might act older than her age, but she didn't look it. No respectable bar would have let her in prior, and Tanya didn't seem the type to go to an establishment of dubious repute.

The only time when he could envision her learning was during the weeks she'd been in Berun while training other officers to command the _Kampfgruppen_. That was a very short window for her to have become as proficient as someone who'd been playing the game for longer than she'd been alive. And anyway, he'd never once heard anyone comment that they'd seen her around the club, and surely it would have caused some sort of stir if a fourteen-year-old had upset all the betting pools. Before that, the last time she had an extended stay away from the front would have been War College. Back then, she would have simply been too tiny to reach over the table or hold the cue stick properly.

So, to the best of his knowledge, this might not be the first time she'd ever played, but it couldn't be far from it.

"Damn," he muttered, as she made a difficult shot that he'd seen but had assumed no one else would, bringing their score perilously close together.

For probably the hundredth time, he wondered if she could read minds. She knew all the same tricks he did and made the same shots he would, even when they were unorthodox maneuvers that a new player should never have imagined making.

Of course, he'd known that even for a mage, she had good coordination. She'd been top-tier in aerial maneuvers and was famous for sniping shots from so far away that she was beyond the enemy's detection systems. But they weren't playing that stupid American version of the game where all that mattered was hitting the ball into the right pocket.

For this game, you needed strategy, needed to see not just how to make the next shot, but how to make it so that it lined up successive shots after that. You had to understand how to nurse the object balls through the balk zones to maximize your score, how to play defensively to make things difficult for your opponent.

Unlike every other mage he'd ever played, Tanya wasted no time making fancy, grand trick shots, but took the same cautious, incremental approach that serious players eventually learned was best, even if it didn't look impressive. She didn't calculate only the easiest way to score the next point, would make atypical choices to increase her chances of favorable positioning for later ones. You couldn't just call it beginner's luck.

Lehrgen smiled with satisfaction when she missed after only pulling a few points into the lead and had to turn the table back over. He'd underestimated her. Badly. Her mind was so powerfully analytical that she must have been able to grasp the complexities of the game just by watching him and a few other players who knew what they were doing.

She deserved to be proud of herself for learning so adeptly. But he was not going to lose to her just so she could feel good about it. Her ego was big enough already. It was time to put down his beer and get serious. The satisfaction of her making her pay for his drink when this was over would almost be too much.

It took every ounce of his concentration, but a half-hour later, he broke 300 and left her with a final count of 267. The mediocre beer transformed into a brew fit for kings when Tanya had to cough up the money to buy it. The sweet taste of victory was almost enough to purge the bitter part of him that blamed Tanya for the fact he'd be leaving the bar alone. He hadn't been this proud of a win since he'd beaten the uncle that had taught him to play.

Tanya did not concede gracefully. She was _sore _over her loss. Lehrgen knew he shouldn't tease her for it, but as one of the few things he could best her in, it was too tempting not to.

"Finally getting a taste of your own medicine," he laughed, gulping down his beer with a satisfied "ahh" just to make the point, "and boy does it look bitter."

Her gaze darkened, her stance shifted, and for a second he thought she was going to kick him in retaliation.

"You do have the advantage. I might have beaten you if my arms weren't so short now."

This was his sixth beer, if he was counting correctly, and he began to laugh harder than he would have had he been dead sober at the way she'd phrased that.

"Now? I know you aren't tall, Degurechaff, but I don't believe you've been shrinking."

Her face paled, its previous expression of peevishness traded for discomfort. Lehrgen surmised she must be tired of jokes about her height. She wasn't abnormally short anymore, but for most of her life she had been.

Her face cleared in a second. "I just meant that if I grow any more you'd better be up for a challenge," she huffed.

With that, she plunked herself into the nearest chair, like she was determined to have the last word. He wasn't going to give it to her.

"I wouldn't be so sure of that," he replied, settling into the seat across from her. "I wasn't really trying up until halfway through."

She scowled at him.

"I won't underestimate you again," he placated. "All I'm saying is you'll need a good deal of practice before you can even think of beating me."

"Then we'll need to have a rematch sometime."

"Just tell me when and where," he offered. He doubted he'd ever tire of beating her at the game, petty as it was.

"Same time, next year."

"Fine, so long as it's somewhere with better beer. Next time, the wager's two," he said, tossing his head back to drain the inferior brew he had in his glass. "Where'd you learn to play so well anyway?"

"Last year. Weiss and his brothers all escaped to the town bar as often as they could."

"With a family as big as his sounded, I imagine there was at least one other mage," Lehrgen commented.

"His youngest two sisters tested almost as high as he did, actually, but they were too young during the war. Had one brother who didn't score as spectacularly high, but still got recruited into the marine mages once things got more desperate."

"It's interesting how it runs in families like that," Lehrgen said, drumming his fingers against the table. "No one in mine has even a single drop of mana. So far as I know, even in the extended von Lehrgen branches there isn't a single mage."

"Would you...want one?" she asked tentatively, like she was surprised anyone would answer "yes" to that question.

"I wouldn't mind it," he answered, giving her a reassuring smile as he stood up to leave.

Her hesitance betrayed that she was aware of an unfortunate truth - for all their usefulness, mages were still considered unnatural by many people. Not something they'd want in their family tree. If Tanya was wondering whether he found her unnatural, the answer was, of course, affirmative, but her magical talent was towards the very bottom of his list of reasons for that feeling.

**February 27, 1930**

**Grovenor House Hotel, Mayfare, Londinium, the Commonwealth**

From his seat by the window of his eighth floor suite, Hans von Zettour watched over Park Street below him. Londinium had so far lived up to its reputation. It was the first clear day he'd gotten in his two week stay.

It was a less tumultuous city that Berun was these days. Fewer beggars, fewer parties, a more sedate approach to politics. What boring lives they all led, going about debating things in Parliament like civilized people instead of relying on armed gangs to back up their arguments for them.

Weak sunlight glinted off the cranes dotting the skyline, the city abuzz with construction being completed now that the war had come to an end and companies didn't fear losing their men to overseas graves. No magnificent sunset was forthcoming as the light receded. Even in the winter, some smog hung in the air and added a haze to anything at more than a middling distance. Zettour could just make out St. Paul's as he sipped the last of his afternoon tea.

Today, the pedestrians going by were distinguishable by more than their umbrellas, so he caught the Imperial delegation returning and knew that he had five more minutes of peaceful contemplation before he heard the knock on his door that would bring his daily briefing.

Sitting at the table alongside the diplomats himself was a political impossibility. The Commonwealth certainly knew he was in their country, and that he was there advising on behalf of the Imperial Army. They could tolerate it. But the ambassadors from the Republic, the Entente, and the Federation never would have suffered his presence. He was left to direct what he could behind the scenes.

He'd have to buy Degurechaff a real souvenir before he left. So far, the Empire was playing its part effectively according to her suggestion. It rankled his pride, and that of every man there with him, but putting on a show of being so feeble as to lack the resources to keep their own population under control was earning a reconsideration of Europaen power balances.

Intelligence had helpfully highlighted every captured member of the Polaskan rebel group who'd so much as glanced at a Communist leaflet, adding ample fuel to the other countries' concerns that this was the first step in a continent-wide spread of the disease. The Federation could rant and rave all they wanted that it wasn't them who'd slipped military-grade orbs into the hands of the rebels. Every protest made them look guiltier.

At this point, they'd all but given up trying to convince anyone, and just wanted the rebellion put down as quickly as possible so it didn't inspire similar groups within their own borders.

Not a single soul beyond who was absolutely necessary knew the truth that Degurechaff had discovered - that a clever combination of existing explosives and commercial-grade orbs was doing the damage. Presumably, the Polaskan rebels liked the illusion of strength it gave them, so they'd unintentionally cooperated in keeping the secret. Hell, even the diplomats here with him weren't aware. They did their jobs with more passion when they believed their own lies.

Just as expected, three solid raps sounded at his door a few minutes later, which he opened to admit his fellow countrymen.

Three triumphant grins greeted him when he did. Silently, he poured four glasses out of the bottle of gin that had come complimentary with the room. Or compliments of MI5, more like. There was nothing better than getting your foreign guests good and liquored up if you wanted to listen in on them spilling their secrets.

Zettour would never say so to his daughter, but hearing "five battalions of aerial mages" brought him more joy than being told he was going to be a grandfather.

"No dual-core orbs, two production facilities, one for military and one for commercial, and the Commonwealth wants unrestricted access to both."

"Good. Reasonable. What we expected," Zettour agreed, taking a sip of his drink. "We shouldn't need more than that to keep our citizens safe," he threw in for good measure. You never knew who was listening from the next room over.

"They've agreed to add 75,000 men to the allowed size of our Army. The Commonwealth wants the Eupern-Malmunde region included in the Lowlands plebiscite. We'll cede northern Schleswich to the Entente. Oberschlesia will be granted additional autonomy, and the Federation wants no customs imposed on purchases from Polaska by Oberschlesian businesses."

"That's steep," Zettour frowned. All that for a paltry 75,000 men and a single mage battalion per regional Army?

"Well, we're here to make friends, yes?" one of the diplomats said, laying a sealed letter on his table and looking at him meaningfully.

"Of course," he nodded. "Thank you, gentlemen."

Once his door was locked and bolted, he sliced open the letter and glanced it over, then threw it in the fire to burn the evidence, watching it go up in smoke looking like a cat who'd gotten the cream. This was better than anything he'd dared hope for. The tension on the Empire's eastern border had pried the Commonwealth away from any of its remaining commitment to upholding a treaty largely written to benefit the Federation.

They were ready to talk about the limits put on the Empire's naval and aviation industries. Now _that _was worth the demands his diplomats had agreed to.

* * *

_A/N: Lehrgen comes up with the Make Love, Not War slogan way ahead of its time; Tanya begins to suspect he's a fellow time-traveler._

_For reference, the game they are playing is a from of billiards called balkline. There are no pockets and only three balls, and you score points by hitting the cue ball off the other two balls in succession while pushing them around different zones on the table._


	34. Sympathy for the Devil

.

**March 11, 1930**

**General Staff Office, Imperial Capital Berun**

Every morning, shortly before lunch, one of the office secretaries came around to deliver the mail that had arrived earlier in the day, which by then had been sorted and bundled. Every morning, Brigadier General Erich von Lehrgen reluctantly took his own pile from her hands.

Most other men of his rank that he knew had assigned their adjutant to the task of sifting through what was and wasn't critical. Lehrgen had plans, eventually, to hand it off, but he hadn't yet found the time to actually instruct Ernst on how he liked to prioritize his incoming letters. It was a vicious cycle - going through the mail himself ate into his time and thus he never had enough time to sacrifice so that he might teach someone else to do it.

Overall, Lehrgen wasn't one to complain about the various impositions of being a general. Long hours, too many decisions, too much responsibility - occasionally, they bothered him, but infrequently, like an old injury that only throbbed on a hot summer day when it was about to rain.

Out of everything, his least favorite part of the job was dealing with his own mail. The higher he climbed, the more he got. A few items demanded attention, of course, but most everything of true importance came from another officer, hand-delivered separately from the rest.

The thing with being a general, and one in charge of Operations, no less, was that there were an unending number of people interested in what he could do for them. He wasn't exactly receiving many cards thanking him or wishing him well. Journalists hoping he'd leak classified information, politicians hoping for his support, industrialists hoping to sell him something - those were the letters he received.

The latter type he handed off to Tanya. She had an eye for smart financial decisions and read every minute detail in a purchase contract down to the meaning of using a semicolon or a comma. The others he had to take care of himself, penning rejections as gently as he could manage so he didn't open the paper the next day to find a scathing editorial written about him.

Today, he saw a familiar stamp on an envelope in his pile. It was one that he'd been expecting to some degree. There was only one man the Imperial Army who would be entrusted with the task of designing a single-core orb powerful enough to compete with modern designs. As soon as the total ban on production had been lifted, Lehrgen had been waiting to see if Doctor Schugel wrote to him. He wasn't unaware that the man might request the assistance of his subordinate to help test his newest creation.

Schugel wasn't an Army employee any longer, but his lab received enough government funding that it was only a façade of separation. That meant he could hire anyone he wanted, including people who, like Tanya, were ineligible for military service.

Reaching for a fresh sheet of paper from the stack he kept on a corner of his desk, Lehrgen began forming a reply. No, Schugel could not have Tanya, and no, he would not reconsider. The last thing he needed was Tanya back in a state where she might begin to miss the good old days.

He blew on the reply to dry the ink, then folded it in three and put it to the side. He'd have Ernst address an envelope later.

An hour afterwards, a few seconds away from stepping out for lunch, he received a call from General von Romel.

"I hear Schugel wants Degurechaff to test the newest orb."

"...yes, sir. But I'm sure he can make do with someone else if needed."

How Romel had found out was a question for another day. It was entirely possible that Schugel had simply annoyed the switchboard operators enough that they'd given up and connected him directly.

"She was the only one who ever managed to use the Type 95."

"Which we still have in our possession," Lehrgen objected. "She can only use one orb at a time, designing something else that only she can operate won't do us any good."

"But without the 95, Schugel wouldn't have figured out how to produce the 97," Romel countered. "We need a miracle, and if anyone can pull it off, it's the two of them."

"But-" Lehrgen began, wanting to contradict his superior's logic, stalling as he thought up a rebuttal.

"Is she working on anything critical at the moment?"

"Ahh...well…"

"I'll take the hesitation as a no," Romel replied, answering his own question. "Make sure you do pass that request along to her, Brigadier General."

"Yes, sir," Lehrgen sighed, hanging up and deciding that he'd skip lunch after all.

As soon as he got off the phone, a way around the dilemma occurred to him - if Schugel could be persuaded to withdraw his request, Lehrgen wouldn't need to defy his boss to prevent Tanya from getting her hands on a military-grade orb again.

Schugel was apparently in the middle of a stroke of brilliant inspiration when Lehrgen called, because it took him almost ten minutes to come to the phone, and the only explanation he received was that the staff was too afraid to interrupt him.

"Brigadier General!" Schugel cried, in his overly excitable tone, as though they were long lost friends. In reality, Lehrgen had met him only a handful of times for a few minutes each.

"Doctor Schugel."

"So, when can I expect to see Degurechaff's face again?"

"Doctor," Lehrgen began rubbing between his eyes where he felt a headache forming, "I know you've had success with her in the past, but is it entirely necessary to use her for this?"

So far as he was aware, Tanya's inborn mana concentration was just about average, and it was only the Type 95 that made her so overwhelmingly powerful. The only thing she was unusually talented at when it came to actual combat was the ducking and weaving that made it look like she was leading the deadliest of all dances.

"Only she'll do," Schugel replied dismissively.

"We have a number of mages who are more powerful serving as part of our regular Army," Lehrgen reminded him. "It would be much simpler to reassign one of them to your lab. And they might have a better aptitude for a single-core orb than someone who barely remembers using those models."

"It's not a matter of power, General," Schugel breathed, in an oddly fervent whisper. "Only a blessed disciple who's heard the voice of the Lord will guide us to victory."

It took all of Lehrgen's willpower not to burst out laughing before he muted the receiver. The way Schugel said it, it was as though he'd expected any reasonable person to understand that logic. The man's conception of _Tanya _as some sort of holy maiden was so hilariously backwards that Lehrgen idly wondered if Schugel would answer "orange" when asked what color the sky was. Her nickname wasn't the Angel of the Rhine for a reason. If there was someone whispering in her ear, it definitely wasn't God.

After a few more iterations of Lehrgen politely asking whether they might find a substitute and Schugel refusing to be the least bit compromising, he gave up. The man was as stubborn as Tanya was when she wanted something.

Passing by her office several hours later, en route to the coffee pot, he heard her muttering crossly to herself and paused for a moment. That she was given to talking to herself didn't unduly concern him. He did that every once in a while himself. She really ought to take more care, though, with what she said when her door was half-open.

"I'm going to fucking murder him," Lehrgen heard, accompanied by the sound of pacing.

Whoever this unfortunate was, he could only pray it wasn't him. He didn't think he'd done anything recently that would anger her so, but there was always the possibility that she'd found out about some of the choice commentary he'd used about her in the past. Suffice to say, whoever it was, things weren't looking good for Tanya's moral progress. This was the opposite of the direction they needed to be going.

He listened for a few seconds, as the details of how this murder was going to be carried out grew increasingly explicit. He had to give credit where it was due: the woman was inventive. Once she reached the point of, "I'm going to rip out his intestines and strangle him with them," he decided to interrupt her.

She halted in place when she noticed he'd walked in. He didn't even have to ask.

"How was this deranged _buffoon _of a scientist allowed to reopen his lab?" she yelled, shaking the stack of papers she held in her hand, the same ones he'd handed her at the end of their afternoon meeting, along with a warning that a pet project of Romel's might supercede her current assignments.

_Well, I guess she'll do the work of rejecting the request for me, _Lehrgen thought with a wry smile. He'd make Tanya break that news to the doctor. One place he did not want to be was stuck between the two of them. One or the other would certainly shoot the messenger.

He couldn't for the life of him deduce why she hated Schugel with such a passion. The man was brilliant, if a bit touched in the head, but on that count, the two should get along perfectly. Birds of a feather and all that. Lehrgen found him…trying...to deal with, but had never had the least thought of wanting to commit some sort of violence against the doctor over it.

"I think General von Romel is simply worried that we'll only have you and the Type 95 to rely on unless he gives Schugel leave to work as he pleases," he soothed, before Tanya marched up to the other man to shout at him too and got them both in trouble. "As it stands, you're the only useful mage in the country."

She froze and blinked a few times. After a few seconds, she visibly forced herself to relax, which let Lehrgen do the same. She could hate Schugel all she liked, so long as she did it peacefully.

"I was afraid of what I was walking into when I heard you plotting a gruesome homicide. Is he really all that bad?" Lehrgen asked curiously.

"Sir, please understand, if you knew how many times he tried to kill me, you'd agree," she huffed, making a fist that crumpled the edge of the papers she was holding.

_Good, _Lehrgen thought, congratulating himself silently for having handled the situation so well. From the looks of it, she wasn't feeling at all favorably towards agreeing to spend a few weeks in Schugel's presence, but if Romel called to ask why, she wouldn't yell his ear off.

The next morning, he received the papers back, and when he gave them a perfunctory scan, he had to put them down and lay his head on his desk in defeat. The proposal was accepted and signed at the bottom.

_Damn, _he cursed. He never would have thought, after that display, that she could cool her head enough to go along with Schugel's demands. It was a mistake to have tried to bring her vicious tirade to an end. Once he'd snapped her out of it, she'd applied her dispassionate logic to herself just as stringently as she did everything else.

With a quiet groan of misery, he brought his head back up, eyes landing on the burgeoning pile of papers that never left the trays on his desk. With Tanya gone, he wouldn't have near the capacity to keep up with them.

**March 17, 1930**

**Elinium Labs, Kruskos Air Test Base, Trelbin, Imperial Province of Brandenberg**

Kruskos Airfield, also known as the last place Tanya ever wanted to return to, came into view as her car approached. The Lowlands, the Southern Continent, even Stalyngrad - without a war going on, there was no reason to avoid them. But Kruskos was still the home territory of the Empire's most dangerous citizen. Her only hope was that she had enough name recognition by now that Schugel would have to think twice before killing her.

From the beginning, her right to refuse this assignment had been a false choice. The Imperial Army needed Schugel. Schugel was irrationally convinced that he needed her. If he threw a tantrum and refused to work until Tanya got there, it would just extend her already untenable position, which her superior had so kindly made clear. Until they designed a new orb, she was the country's last resort in the event of disaster.

A reasonable man of science wouldn't hold up research because he couldn't use a specific lab rat. To anyone expecting Schugel to behave reasonably, well...there was nothing to say but _good luck_. At this point, it was better to just get it over with.

"Tanya!" Schugel screeched, as soon as she entered his lair.

"Doctor."

"What a tragedy," he said, with a shake of his head, putting his hand on her shoulder. "Because of our enemies, you can no longer wear God's creation."

"The real tragedy is that they forgot to ban you and your rockets from the country," she retorted, brushing his hand away. As neither of them were Army employees any longer, she couldn't be bothered to give him any deference.

Worryingly, a few tears formed in Schugel's eyes.

"I knew it!" he declared. "I knew you would bring the wisdom of the Lord with you."

Honestly, she had no idea what nonsense he was going on about. All she'd done was insult him, and this was the result. He needed to go see a doctor. Or - he was a doctor, so more specifically, his brain needed to be donated to science so that a real professional could examine what had gone wrong with it.

Clearly, losing the war hadn't done anything to shake his faith. Before he started telling her about how it was all God's plan or whatever, they should get to work.

"Do you have an orb for me or not?"

Proudly, he handed the latest model over to her. She wanted to deny it, but the truth was, Schugel's orbs were works of art. Every manufacturer's model looked basically the same from a distance, but once you were close enough to see the interior, his handiwork was unmistakable.

The design was elegant, but looking at it, there was nothing special. It was just a fancier-looking version of the Volcker Type 13 everyone had been issued standard at the beginning of the war. She'd have to add blatant patent infringement to Schugel's list of misdeeds.

Evidently, he couldn't contain himself when it came to symbolism. He'd modified the standard mana receptor port into the shape of an upside-down cross. It was a nasty habit to force others to hold onto religious trinkets.

"Give it a try," he ordered, a wide smile on his face.

Since she knew the maker, she could only wonder what sort of defects lay beneath the surface. Even if it looked normal, she couldn't help but be apprehensive about something as simple as activating the core.

"Internal temperature stable," one of the other scientists confirmed, once a healthy flow of mana was running through it.

"Output within parameters," said another.

Tanya couldn't relax just yet. The Type 95 hadn't usually destabilized until she was already perilously high in the air. The real test would come soon. And she wasn't doing that one without a parachute and protective gear.

Once she was suited up, she lifted off, her feet leaving ground as she rapidly rose.

Flying was, in a word, thrilling. No matter that her history of being in the air was poisoned by a number of unpleasant memories, there was nothing quite like flying under her own power. It was the ultimate form of freedom.

Her orb wasn't giving any signs of misbehaving, so she ascended just the way she was accustomed to until the air started feeling thin.

Checking her gear, her altitude was only 4,500 feet. She might have gone up in a matter of seconds, but really. She was out of shape if she had to take a break this low.

She let herself hang in the air for a few minutes, until the oxygen level felt normal again.

"What's the altitude limit on this?" she asked, when she felt ready to go higher.

"Should be 7,000 feet, ma'am."

How nice it was to be addressed by a respectful signaller instead of shouted at by Schugel. He must have been busy basking in the glory of the Lord or something, because he hadn't tried to make her do anything impossible yet. She could gain height at a reasonable pace from here on out.

Barely over 5,000 feet, she ran into her first problem. She'd known it was bound to happen eventually. She couldn't go any further. It wasn't a matter of oxygen, just propulsion. Still, if she'd made it this far without anything going wrong, she had to start wondering if she was dreaming, and she hadn't even woken up to start her first day at Elinium yet.

No - she didn't need to wonder. The next thing the radio signaller told her was that she had permission to descend back to 4,000 feet and go through a set of standard spell-building exercises. There was no doubt about it. Her mind had escaped into an unrealistically pleasant fantasy as a coping mechanism.

A single-core orb couldn't handle spells with the complexity Tanya was used to, so she got most of them right on her first try, even though it had been two years. The lab put her through her paces as far as maneuvering around, so the exercise was somewhat reminiscent of the rigors of basic training. But, by the time she'd touched down for lunch, nothing had exploded on her yet.

Tanya handed over the orb so it could be recalibrated. This was how a lab with a prototype was supposed to work. Safely engineered tests and incremental improvements based on the data that was collected. She was really moving up in the world if the personnel at Kruskos were afraid of harming her.

After lunch, it was the same old thing, except she made it about 500 feet higher before gravity tied her down. The next day and the day after were much the same. Finally, someone must have given Schugel a good talking-to. She'd been concerned for no reason.

_Of course, when Being X is involved, that wouldn't be the case, _Tanya muttered to herself shortly after she finished her lunch on Friday.

_I'd much rather have gotten a layoff notice, _she thought glumly. Giving out bad news on a Friday afternoon was the preferred way for HR reps too afraid to answer hard questions to let go of employees. Schugel apparently took the same strategy with his own company.

"Now, if you give a firm press here," Schugel instructed her, "you'll open another port."

He already had two of the damned orbs hooked together. He was too grandiose to stop there. Now that he was confident that he'd calibrated the individual cores correctly - she hit maximum capacity yesterday, and reconfirmed it that morning - he wanted to skip ahead to another quad-core with nothing in between.

Tanya knew she'd had a good reason not to like the cross design on the bottom of the mana receptor. That was exactly the piece that locked into the side of another orb. If he put all four of them together, they'd interlock into a sort of grid.

"Excuse me, Doctor," Tanya said calmly. Despite her tone, she didn't feel calm. It was more like she was too dumbfounded for other emotions. "Don't you think testing two at a time should be the next step?"

"Nonsense," he replied. "Fear not, the price of failure is only eternal paradise."

Riiight. Seeing as how she had already died once, Tanya considered herself somewhat of an expert in the field. She was more confident than ever that promises of heavenly bliss were the work of some brilliant con artists. Nothing was more lucrative than selling a product you never had to deliver. That aside, if Schugel would like to take a trip to the afterlife to see for himself, she'd be more than happy to personally send him on his journey.

"I'm not sure the Army will accept that when you tell them I won't be coming back," she warned.

"My child. If you pray earnestly to our Savior, he will not turn his back on you."

Hold on. She didn't need to bring anyone else into this. Being X never mentioned any family members, so they could keep their distance. Even if someone like Jesus started off alright, after two thousand years of living with Being X, he would have to be a total nutcase.

"Maybe next week," she said, faking a yawn. "For now, my stamina won't handle more than dual-core."

On the plus side, Schugel accepted that excuse. Regardless, she was still a guinea pig for a new style of multi-core orb. She considered making a quick call to her office, but if the top brass disagreed with Schugel's methods, they wouldn't have sent her here to begin with. Even if she got Lehrgen to take her side, he'd made it clear enough that Romel wanted this done.

Reluctantly, she walked back onto the test field. Before she even got off the ground, the orbs went haywire.

"You're doing it wrong!" Schugel shouted, having taken control of the radio himself.

"Doctor, you can't expect me to get it right if you can't tell me how it's supposed to work."

"Theoretically, the mana can loop between the cores to prevent the second one from overheating."

Theoretically. The place to talk about theoretically was in a classroom or a lab. Theoretically, cars should stop for pedestrians, but everyone still looked before stepping off the curb.

She could understand what he meant - the second orb in the chain was where the excess mana pooled - but that didn't give her much help in figuring out how to reroute it. When the cores had been contained within the same shell, the process had happened almost automatically, but with two distinct devices, it wasn't as simple.

_Well, I have to give it a few real tries before I report back to Romel that it's impossible, _Tanya sighed, waiting for the orbs to cool down before she ran her mana through them again. This was going to be a long month.

**March 24, 1930**

**General Staff Office, Imperial Capital Berun**

Unless they'd been out at an all-night party, no one who was having a good day was ever on their third cigarette by eight in the morning.

Exactly at the hour, Erich von Lehrgen picked up the phone and began dialing. The morning paper still sat untouched in front of him, unfolded because he'd intended on reading it, but had been unable to maintain the concentration necessary to do so. Every few words, his mind would drift back to worry over what sort of tragedy he'd unwittingly authorized, and whether he'd completely ruined any chance that his opinion would ever be trusted again.

Impatiently, he drew smoke into his lungs as he waited for someone to pick up the phone on the other end. A question had been burning a hole through his stomach all weekend. He'd almost phoned Tanya's apartment so that his mind could be freed, but had decided against it. He didn't want to start a habit of personal phone calls between them.

"Brigadier General von Lehrgen for Tanya Degurechaff," he said, as soon as it was answered.

"Sir?" she asked, a few minutes later.

"Just calling to check how things are going," he said, clearing his throat awkwardly.

"Miss me already?" she asked cheekily.

"Is it as…bad…as last time?" he asked, rolling his eyes at her last comment despite the seriousness of the inquiry he was making. This was what had kept him awake at night.

He didn't know exactly what had possessed him to do it. Something about her vehemence over another assignment to Elinium Labs, something about the way she'd said, "if you knew," some sort of morbid curiosity, he couldn't say. All he knew was that he'd put in an application to review the records from her testing of the Type 95 less than an hour after he'd received her signature on the paperwork he'd given her.

It had taken until this past Friday for someone to dig them out of the archives, but they were duly delivered to him, and after he was finished work for the week, he'd locked himself in one of the rooms that had the necessary equipment to watch the recording.

What he'd seen had almost made him heave up the lunch he'd eaten several hours earlier. He'd had to force himself not to turn his head away as over and over again her arm was shredded down to the bone, she sustained burns that melted her clothing into her skin, or a small, crumpled body was picked up off a field and carried to a medical tent when the parachute failed to open and she hit the ground hard enough to shatter bones and rupture organs.

Somewhere in his mind he knew there was little difference between this and having agreed to send her into battle. But firefights she'd often survived unscathed. At Kruskos, she hadn't stood a chance.

He remembered receiving her requests for transfer back to the front like it was yesterday. At the time it had come as no surprise to him. He'd approved it as quickly as possible, thinking she was itching to get back to those skies that rained blood, worried what she'd do if they didn't allow her to indulge herself. It had taken a few tries to push it through, since she was the best candidate for testing, but he'd never stopped to wonder if there was another reason behind her repeated letters.

All she'd been trying to do was escape what was torture by even the most narrow definition of the word. The Rhine Front had been unquestionably preferable to that. He'd gone home Friday shocked that she hadn't gone through with any of her plots to murder Schugel. Quite frankly, the man deserved it. The mad genius was too useful to lose, but after this call Lehrgen planned on going directly to Romel to suggest that some oversight of the doctor's methods be put in place.

No matter how low his opinion on Tanya's fitness to be called a human being had been at the time, he never would have allowed it to proceed in good conscience had he been aware of the gory details. The sorts of things he'd seen in that footage were the type you wouldn't wish on your worst enemy. He may not have felt much sympathy for her then, but he liked to think he would have drawn a line somewhere, and cruelty on that scale would have been over it.

"...no," she said after a second, in response to his question, dragging Lehrgen away from his memories. "I was worried at first, but after some adjustments this weekend, everything's stable. I won't bore you with the details, but he had to restrict the input to the primary core below its technical capacity to get it right. I didn't know he had it in him to make something normal. It's just slow going trying to calibrate it correctly."

"Good," Lehrgen said, letting out the breath he'd been holding, "good. I – I didn't know, Degurechaff. I swear to you I didn't. I looked up the archive footage last week. If I'd known, I never would have passed along the request that you go back to Kruskros. And for the record, I don't think most of your other superior officers knew either."

They'd heard rumors that not everyone survived a stint at Elinium. They all had. But the part of the Army that handled weapons development had never been candid about what they had to have known they were turning a blind eye to.

"I - ohh," she said with surprise, a surprise that hurt to hear in her tone. "Well, I appreciate the concern, but I'm happy to report that in this case it's unnecessary. Unless he starts asking me to work on the quad design again, in which case..."

"If things change, I'll have you out of there as soon as you say the word," he promised her.

"Thanks, sir, though I hope for my own sake it won't come to that."

A few weeks later, Tanya was returned to his care.

The Empire could now boast a working version of a new orb. Technically, it only had one core. They would be produced individually, leaving the inspectors none the wiser. The trick was, these orbs could work in tandem, so if and when it came to it, a mage would be issued two and they would be calibrated to resonate with each other. Schugel might be deranged, but he could get the job done.

"Is everything alright, sir?" Tanya asked, twenty minutes into their first meeting of the month.

Lehrgen shook himself. She'd caught him staring. He'd been trying to see if she showed any signs of being abnormally stressed or tired. Regardless of what she'd said about letting him know if things got worse, he didn't trust that she had a healthy concept of when it was and wasn't appropriate to complain.

"Just wondering if you were free this weekend," he told her.

He was practically drowning in work without her help. An extended week in the office would do wonders for his pile of papers, but he didn't want to ask if she was still exhausted.

"If...if you don't mind, Serebryakov will be released from the hospital Friday afternoon, and I told her I'd be there."

Furtively, Lehrgen looked at the mess of documents on the table in one corner of his room. He'd had to put them off to the side where they didn't look so imposing. _They can wait, _he thought, tamping down the anxiety that had popped up instantaneously when he thought of how many people were awaiting responses. He finally had a chance to do the right thing for once.

"Then take a long weekend," he offered. "Thursday through Tuesday. Get her situated somewhere comfortable."

"Are you sure that's alright?"

He just nodded in response. The word _yes _wouldn't come out of his mouth. Being so far behind on work was very far from _alright. _

**April 27, 1930**

**Vilmersdorf, Imperial Capital Berun**

It wasn't far between Lichterfeld and Vilmersdorf. Barely more than a ten-minute taxi ride, or a few stops on the U-Bahn. It was busier in Viktoriya's neighborhood than it was in Lehrgen's own - the streets were populated by shops and apartments instead of endless rows of single-family homes - but all the same, it was safe and clean, any impecunious residents tending more towards the starving artist type than the criminal sort.

The spring afternoon rather pleasant, Lehrgen had elected to make the hour's walk from his home instead. A bit of _flânerie _never hurt anyone in moderation. After the winter, anything that offered a reasonable excuse to leave the confines of home and office was welcome.

All the trees along the way had been in various stages of blooming. He'd given himself an extra hour to stroll through the botanical gardens along the way. He couldn't remember how many years it had been since he'd remembered to stop by at the right time of year.

He'd even done away with his uniform for the day. Despite the fact that they were designed for physical exertion, they weren't the most comfortable form of attire, liable to make the wearer stuffy in the warm sun.

Of course, Lehrgen would never think of dropping in on a woman unannounced, so Viktoriya would be expecting him. He'd called a few days prior to ensure the visit wasn't unwelcome.

Ostensibly, he was there to check in on her and see how she was getting on in the new apartment, ask if she needed anything beyond the financial assistance he was already providing. He'd asked Tanya a handful of times whether there might be a good time to give her a quick hello in the hospital, but she'd never gone through with arranging anything.

He didn't know Viktoriya well enough to spend much time fretting over her health, but she'd always given him the impression that she would at least give a courtesy call to him if the situation were reversed, complete with cookies or the like.

Lehrgen wasn't coming empty-handed himself. He'd picked up an array of tulips from the nearest store, though they wouldn't come as a shock to the woman receiving them. He'd asked if there was anything he could bring, and she'd apologetically explained that heading out on her own to shop was still stressful, so if he didn't think the request too odd, that she'd like a reminder of spring while she was homebound.

A bouquet was a small price to pay given that he had somewhat of an ulterior motive in visiting.

He knew Viktoriya at least somewhat shared his opinions on both Tanya's ability to induce terror and her fitness for civilian life. Their motives may have been different - Viktoriya would want to see Tanya happy for her own sake while Lehrgen feared what might happen in the future if she weren't - but in the end, they could both agree on the same outcome. He'd come to ask Viktoriya if she'd be willing to make somewhat of an unusual effort to encourage her friend to acquire a few hobbies beyond networking and drinking coffee, both of which were related to her primary source of current joy: working for the Army.

He gave his name to the doorman, who let him pass without further issue. Belatedly, Lehrgen realized that with flowers in hand, he probably looked like he was picking up someone for a date. Not that it really mattered what anyone else thought. Viktoriya knew that wasn't the case.

Brightly lit and with a breeze coming in through the open window, his first impression of the stairwell he walked up was favorable. He'd been a little concerned about leaving Tanya to her own devices in choosing an apartment for Viktoriya after seeing what she'd chosen for herself, but apparently when she wasn't spending her own money, she did alright.

He knocked twice at the door, and as soon as it began to open he put his gift out in front, presenting the fragrant tulips first, which meant they went right under the nose of a woman they were not intended for. The person standing in front of him was none other than the one he'd planned on having a strategy session over. She did not look amused by either his presence or the fact that he'd just presented her with the spring's best flowers.

"What a surprise," she said, leaving out the word _unwelcome, _which she so clearly wanted to say.

She hadn't moved from the doorway. It blocked him from entering, and she didn't look like she was of a mind to invite him in.

"Sorry, Tanya!" Visha exclaimed from somewhere behind her friend. "I didn't realize you'd still be here, I forgot to mention anything."

"I see," Tanya said, stepping aside. "And to what do we owe this visit?"

He'd like to remind her that it was in fact his name on the lease, but he had a feeling that wouldn't go down well. It was out of the question that he mention his real intention for coming over either.

"Just stopping by for a quick hello," he replied mildly. "Wanted to see how things are going."

"I'll keep you updated," she stated flatly.

"Would you like anything to drink?" Viktoriya asked from her place on a couch, reading the tension and trying to break it.

"Just water, thank you," he replied. "I won't overstay my welcome."

Tanya went into the kitchen, though not without a glance back at the two of them.

"I think she's getting the wrong impression..." Viktoriya said, looking down at the tulips still in his hand and scratching the back of her head awkwardly.

_No surprises why, _Lehrgen thought miserably.

"I'll just-"

"Please don't tell her what I said," Viktoriya begged. "I don't mean to hurt her feelings. I must seem very helpless right now, I'm sure she's just being overprotective."

It wasn't really his business, but for Viktoriya's sake, he hoped Tanya wasn't planning on hovering over her like an extra-deadly older brother figure forever. The poor girl would end up alone in old age on accident. He liked Viktoriya's company well enough, and wasn't blind to the fact that she was exceedingly comely, but even if he had any intentions towards her, the thought of having to pass through the gauntlet of Tanya's trials would put him off.

Knowing Tanya as he did, it was impossible to imagine she'd do anything other than try to hold interviews for the position of Viktoriya's boyfriend. Anyone who made it that far would be subjected to quarterly performance reviews, and if a progression to fiancé or husband was desired, they'd need to undergo a follow-up fitness assessment.

Tanya returned momentarily, water in hand, both in a glass for him and in a vase for the flowers, which he passed over to her when she motioned for them.

"So," Lehrgen said, clearing his throat, "moving in went alright?"

"Very easy," Viktoriya confirmed. "Tanya just stopped by this morning to pick up some groceries and get another lesson in Rus. We lost track of time."

"Oh," Lehrgen replied with surprise, "you never mentioned you were learning."

"I'm not very good yet," Tanya muttered.

"I think you're just delaying because you're afraid I'll move on to teaching you to bake once you've mastered it," Visha said, with a devious wink.

Tanya made a noise of protest in the back of her throat.

"Don't worry," Visha continued, laughing at her friend's miserable face. "I'm good enough for the both of us. And if I taught you, you might stop visiting me."

"That's not true," Tanya protested. "That's not the only reason I come over."

"I know," Visha smiled. "But it is one of them."

Proving her point, Tanya snatched a cookie off the plate on the coffee table and took a bite.

Lehrgen had never had much of a sweet tooth, but he picked one up himself and then stood up to leave. Viktoriya didn't need any guidance from him. She was already working wonders. Tanya had actually seemed _offended _by the suggestion that she valued the other woman's friendship less than her baked goods.

"I'll head out too," Tanya said, standing up and brushing her pants off. "Let you have some peace and quiet."

In awkward silence, they descended a flight of stairs and left the building. They'd go different directions once there, but for now, she was likely headed to the same U-Bahn stop he was.

Just before they were in sight of the station, the smell of freshly-grilled wurst caught his nose, and a pang in his stomach reminded him how hungry he was. With the hours he'd been keeping at work during Tanya's absence, it hadn't left him time to buy groceries. He'd had nothing besides a few snacks all day.

"I don't have any dinner at home, so I'm going to grab some here," he said, nodding over at the food stall.

Instead of bidding him good evening and continuing on her way, Tanya stopped.

"I'm sure Visha would have been happy to host the both of us," she said, smiling as though she wasn't trying to drive the point home. "Unless there was any particular reason you wanted to speak with her without me there…?"

Lehrgen's heart skipped a beat, mind immediately jumping to the conclusion that whatever strange intuition she had been gifted with had clued her in to the fact that he'd come over to discuss Tanya herself.

_No, _he berated himself a second later, _I just made her think I didn't eat because I was planning on inviting Viktoriya out with me._

He motioned for Tanya to come with him while he got his food. This would cause nothing but trouble if he let it linger and become a sore point between them.

"It was just a friendly visit," he mollified, once they were seated on a bench stabbing at a tray of sliced wurst together. "Just wanted to make sure she was getting on alright. And see the place I'm renting."

"I wasn't trying to say you can't visit," she sighed. "You just surprised me is all."

"She mentioned on the phone that she was sad she wouldn't be well enough to visit the park nearby until next spring," he lied, avoiding the truth that Viktoriya didn't want told. Her exact words to him had been _I don't think Tanya cares about little touches like that, so I feel silly asking her._

For lack of a better word, it was oddly endearing that Viktoriya was still so concerned about impressing her former superior that she was less embarrassed to ask him to do it.

"I thought it would be nice," he continued. "I didn't mean anything else by it. Just to be clear, I'm not...ahh...interested."

_Although if I were, it would be none of your damn business anyway_, he muttered internally.

"Alright, if you say so," Tanya agreed, sounding entirely unconvinced.

He couldn't really blame her. No matter what he might say, a single man showing up at the home of an attractive single woman just before dinner, flowers in hand, made his explanations sound like a hastily-formed excuse.

Well, if she wouldn't take his word for it, there was another avenue he could try. Tanya was the sort of person who put logic above all else. He could expect her to understand that as his most useful employee by a wide margin, he wouldn't do anything that would endanger the peace of their working relationship.

"Anyhow, even if I were, I wouldn't ruin things between us by getting involved with your friend."

"I-" she started, drawing in a breath of protest.

"It's _fine_," he stressed. Whatever she was about to say - _I don't mind if you two are together, I didn't mean to come between you, _or something of the sort, it wouldn't be the truth, just a harmless lie meant to soothe any hurt feelings he might have over the implication that she would try to stop the relationship. That she cared enough to worry about losing her only real friend to him meant more than anything else. "I know how it looked, so I didn't want you going on with the wrong impression."

"Thanks," she said, with a sheepish smile.

The rest of their meal was finished in companionable silence, as was their walk to the subway under the setting sun. Another potential disaster with Tanya averted.

* * *

_A/N It's sort of played for laughs in the LNs, but it goes into enough detail that it's clear Tanya got fucked up badly by the Type 95 a fair number of times before it was stabilized. The descriptions are pretty disturbing when you really think about it. Lord Kelvin's story Paragon delves into it really deeply if anyone's interested._

_B/N For clarification's sake, since this story pulls from the LNs, Tanya only has an average amount of mana, as opposed to the anime/manga, where she is more exceptional._


End file.
